Pastors

TREATMENT FOR INFIDELITY FALLOUT

Louis McBurney

Marriages seared by unfaithfulness can be restored, but the healing process requires more than mere forgiveness.

Not long ago a young couple was in my office working through a serious marital crisis: infidelity. A few months earlier she had discovered his involvement with another woman. She confronted him, and he confessed. They wanted to quickly move away from the pain, so he asked her forgiveness and pledged to never see the other woman again.

Her "I forgive you" was said, and life moved on. But after several months, for reasons they didn't understand, they remained confused and angry with each other. She reiterated her forgiveness, and he kept telling her everything was in the past. Somehow that wasn't enough to bring healing.

They had completed only one part of the very difficult process of reconciliation. There is more to rebuilding a relationship than just forgiving. In counseling couples facing this struggle, I find several specific steps helpful.

Exploring the Painful Alternatives

Many of the couples I see have never considered their options. They've made up their minds either to bail out or grit it out—without pausing to recognize their freedom to choose. I find it's healthy to stop and talk together about the choices.

One choice, of course, is to murmur "I'm sorry . . . I forgive you" and slide right back into familiar patterns of relating—the patterns that led to the breakdown in the first place. That doesn't seem very attractive to me—nor to most couples in crisis.

A second option is divorce. I know many Christians say divorce is not an option. I, too, am firmly committed to the permanence of marriage and always work toward following the biblical position. In counseling troubled couples, however, I've found that a hard-line, frontal assault with Scripture verses flying often only increases defensiveness and resistance, which makes couples feel trapped and less willing to work on necessary changes.

I've had better results openly dissecting the messy details of divorce, first examining the world's view of divorce as "quick relief" and then holding up for inspection the long-term negative aspects. Considering all the options—divorce included—exposes as a myth the unspoken notion of divorce as the easy solution. I make it clear that after the initial relief, most people face a period of grief for a year or more. It can be very severe, depending on the circumstances.

My wife and I have been walking a friend through her recent divorce. She is only beginning to come out of the depression after two years. Even now, when certain things remind her of her former husband, the flow of tears starts all over again.

Her ex-husband had developed a romantic attachment while continuing to say he loved her and was committed to their family. His sudden announcement of divorce completely surprised her. His relationship with his lover initially prevented him from feeling the grief of divorce. But his grief arrived later as he realized the loss of closeness to his sons.

Another consideration is a loss of self-esteem, a deep sense of inadequacy. Divorced people frequently begin ruminating: What's wrong with me that I couldn't make our marriage work? Such damage to their self-concept will often persist into future relationships, making self-disclosure and trust more difficult.

My friend Ken Bekkedahl, who pastors in Aspen, Colorado, lacks no opportunity to counsel divorcing couples. One aspect he always points out is the financial devastation of divorce. He asks the man, "Do you think you can afford to divorce? It may bankrupt you." That gets the man's attention! Then he can go over the particulars. Aside from the legal fees, which can be minimized, the expense of maintaining separate houses is only the beginning. Complications arise as children's needs skyrocket or a second mate and stepchildren strain the checkbook. Money alone may not be an adequate reason to stay married, but the debits of divorce can be a good incentive to reconsider the decision.

One other long-range consideration is the dissolution of the nuclear family. This has been deemphasized these days, but the problems for children of divorce remain stubbornly real and lasting. Their initial confusion, sense of abandonment, and grief is often broadcast in school problems, drug and alcohol abuse, depressive withdrawal, delinquent behavior, even suicide. The increased incidence of divorce among children of divorced parents uncovers their long-range deficiency in forming committed relationships. With a parent's remarriage, children frequently sense a further loss of the parent and feelings of rejection. There is also a stepped-up incidence of child abuse (particularly sexual) with stepparents.

Discipline further complicates the picture. Children quickly learn which parent they can manipulate, and both parents become more vulnerable to it. Let's face it; nobody wants to be the "bad guy"—especially when the "good guy" is the former mate.

Even as adults, children of broken homes often say they wish their parents had not divorced. Their lives continue to bear the complications as graduations, weddings, holidays, children's births, even funerals become logistic nightmares.

"Staying together for the children" has its merits. Our culture places such inflated value on personal pleasure and fulfillment that the legitimate needs of others, including children and society, have been ignored. I have known couples who have stayed together for the children and bequeathed stability rather than strife, continuity rather than confusion. I have even seen such marriages return to close, mutually satisfying relationships as life goes on.

Even after the pain of infidelity, couples considering divorce, I've discovered, need to stare the potential cost in the face. I implant visions of hard realities beyond the immediate relief from tension.

Probing the Commitment to Reconcile

Realizing that divorce is a costly alternative can be a practical motivation to choose recommitment to the marriage. Join that to the unmistakable Christian position upholding the permanence of marriage, and there is little question of the preference for reconciliation.

There are two critical steps in the reconciliation process: (1) making definite the choice to reconcile and (2) communicating that recommitment clearly.

The decision to work toward oneness can be communicated in countless ways, and knowing what says it most effectively to one's spouse improves the chances of success.

One couple did this very effectively. She doubted his faithfulness since an affair; he questioned her ability to be more affirming and less critical. Recognizing these problem areas, they made it part of their recommitment to allay their partner's fears. He began to reveal his schedule and take her out with him more. Rather than chafing under her "control," he considered "checking in" his investment in the marriage. While stepping up her compliments and expressions of gratitude, she also refrained from being her usual negative self.

It was hard work for both of them, but those specific ways communicated best. This step anchors the whole process of reconciliation. If either person adopts a "you go first" attitude, reunion will falter or fail.

Often the guilty partner would prefer the whole sticky situation just disappear. I've heard some men say, "Hey, I came back. I chose to stay with you. So let's just forget it happened and get on with life. It's not such a big deal."

It is a big deal, however, and the betrayed partner critically needs to sense understanding. By listening to the hurt and showing he understands why it's there, the guilty spouse can help the healing happen.

I try to help each person experience the other's pain. I may ask the husband, "How did it feel to you when you were ignored (or criticized, or deceived) at some time in your life?" As he recalls that feeling, it is easier for him to respond in a nondefensive way to his wife's similar hurt. I may interpret for a wife how I believe her husband feels—trapped or suffocated or mistrusted—emotions he may be unable or unwilling to communicate. Many wives have commented, "You know, I never imagined he felt that way, but I can see now how he did."

Repairing Broken Trust and Esteem

An insult can assume many garbs. Some are unique to each couple, such as violating the private aspects of the relationship and sharing them with someone else. Others are more universal. Perhaps the most critical insult derives from the break in trust.

Since marriage's twin pillars are trust and faithfulness, when one partner commits adultery, the foundation is seriously shaken. The severity of the damage is affected by several factors. One is the expectations of the spouse. A person raised in a home marked by infidelity may practically expect unfaithfulness. Another significant variable is the length and quality of the marriage. A relationship spotted by conflict and disappointment may not find unfaithfulness the final blow. There was little trust left to be broken. After many years of deeply committed devotion, however, the shattering of trust will probably be devastating.

Similarly the nature of the adulterous relationship affects the consequences. What was essentially a "one-night stand" that quickly ended causes less fracturing of trust than a prolonged affair with a history of deception and betrayal.

Under any circumstance, however, the breakdown in trust is a serious part of the hurt. Perhaps the first question the spouse asks is "How can I ever trust you again?" The injured mind begins to doubt and question every absence. Suspicion and disbelief move in where trust and confidence dwelt. These are natural and expected yet difficult feelings for both partners.

Rebuilding trust requires effort by both husband and wife. The offending mate must make special efforts to reaffirm faithfulness. This means telling one's spouse about activities and companions. It means restricting special expressions of affection. It means finding time to be alone together. It means being truthful and keeping commitments.

For the betrayed spouse, rebuilding trust includes accepting what the other says without expressing doubt through accusations. When doubts arise, first-person feeling statements—"I'm still having a hard time with my doubts and fears; I want to trust you, but my anxiety sometimes pushes me into mistrust"—work better than indictments like "Where have you been? You don't care if I'm alone and worried! You've been talking to her (or him) again, haven't you?" The first style can be heard with empathy. The second is sure to produce defensiveness. The first helps rebuild trust; the second confirms the mistrust.

I recently received a letter from a man who had successfully rebuilt his relationship with his wife. He said her attitude of trust helped him most. Even when he did things that might have aroused her suspicion, she didn't accuse him. He found himself wanting to keep her informed to avoid making her worry. His attitude changed from feeling threatened to feeling grateful. That reinforced her choice of showing trust. It wasn't an overnight miracle, but a steady, successful process.

The second major victim of infidelity is the self-esteem of the injured spouse, which must be taken into account in reconciliation. The fact that the unfaithful mate chose to stay has little effect on the level of insult felt. The overriding questions are: What's wrong with me as a woman (or man) that I couldn't hold my mate? Am I inadequate as a person? Have I lost my attractiveness?

Disclaimers aside, the fact that speaks loudest is My mate chose someone to replace me!

Sadly, many extramarital affairs take place during the midlife transition, a time of reassessment. Both men and women evidence a growing concern about aging and physical appearance. The sad truth is that the lover is often a younger and more sexually attractive female or a more successful, powerful male. Both scenarios reinforce the inner doubts about self-worth in the betrayed spouse.

Shame and embarrassment damage the self-image of both parties. Practically every betrayed spouse reports a heavy sense of embarrassment. They begin to imagine what others are saying about them and find it difficult to go out socially. They feel they are being blamed for their mate's unfaithfulness and in fact, they may truly blame themselves.

Clearing the Way for Forgiveness

In these situations, the sense of guilt cries for forgiveness. Anger walks hand in hand with guilt. Not infrequently disbelief appears first, then hurt, then self-doubt and recrimination, then guilt, and finally anger. Allowing the anger to be realized and expressed may be threatening. In the wake of an affair, the marriage may seem so insecure that both partners avoid expressing anger for fear of driving the mate away completely.

The anger remains, however, and needs to be expressed. Anger, in itself, is no sin; it can be handled without destroying anyone. I try to prepare couples for positive uses of anger and reassure them that it can be worked through.

Anger often burns over the invasion of special places, music, and memories by the image of the lover. It smolders over the dulling of the joy of sexual play, the death of hopes for the future, the erosion of respect for the mate as a parent, and the sense of abandonment by God. Since any of these may be components of the hurt to be healed, I purposely explore all these areas with a couple.

Bill and Kathy were unbridled romantics whose feeling of being married depended in large part on sharing a wild romance. They sent each other cards and flowers. They played their favorite mood music. They regularly did unusual, spontaneous things like walks on the beach in the rain, or picnics in the snow.

When Bill discovered Kathy had been replicating some of their most romantic experiences with another man, he was devastated. How could he bring that romanticism back into their relationship? Yet it had been and would be a critical aspect of their oneness. Kathy understood his hurt, but felt punished when he stopped doing the usual special things.

God provides an effective way of dealing with even the severest kinds of emotional injury: recognizing the damage and anger, communicating it directly to the offending person, and choosing to forgive.

Forgiveness, the essential foundation, needs to be understood in spiritual, emotional and physical terms. Spiritually, we are commanded to forgive so that we may be forgiven. We grow cold in an unhealthy climate of stubbornly self-righteous unforgiveness.

Emotionally, forgiveness allows us to invest ourselves in the relationship. We cannot move toward intimacy without taking the risk to make that investment. Forgiveness is a choice; we decide to relinquish hurt rather than reinforce it.

Not many people grasp the physical aspects of forgiveness found in the neurochemistry of the brain. Memories are stored as permanent physical structures in our brain cells. Each time a specific area of the brain is stimulated, a particular memory is recalled. Memory traces can be retrieved by thought associations that select precise neural pathways to bring the stored memory into consciousness. When a specific memory trace is replayed repeatedly, that enhanced recording is more easily brought to awareness. We are familiar with this process in memorizing facts, going over and over some information until it is readily recalled.

The same thing happens with emotionally charged memories, whether positive or negative. When we have been hurt, the event and its associated feelings are deposited in our nerve cell computer. We can then either review that memory, rehearsing it into a vividly enhanced mental image, or we can choose not to allow its repetition, thereby relegating it to the unconscious. That mental, neurochemical choice is called forgiveness. The memory is still there, but when life stimuli bring it to mind, we choose to extinguish it rather than reinforce it.

So forgiveness is not a one-time, magical act that removes all memory and pain; it's a continuously repetitive choice. The outcome is a freeing of brain energy and neural pathways that allows for positive thoughts and reconciling behavior.

When I explain this aspect of forgiveness, many couples find it fits their personal experience and helps them see forgiveness as a volitional act rather than a feeling. It also helps them remain hopeful when the old memory comes to mind. They begin to see forgiveness as a process rather than an instant cure.

Controlling Curiosity

The next step proves difficult for the injured spouse. It necessitates overcoming a strong natural drive—the universal curiosity about what happened. All the when, where, and hows become compelling questions, but I've discovered that hearing the answers only intensifies the feelings of rejection.

Learning the specific details creates distressing visual images of the mate with the lover, and this may destroy positive associations of the marriage. For instance, if a couple has enjoyed a private, romantic attachment to a favorite restaurant, that beautiful tradition may be shattered by knowing "they" went there together.

Questioning also tends to alienate the guilty spouse. One man told me of his difficulty keeping quiet when his wife focused so on the other woman. She'd ask, "Well, did your girlfriend do that better than me?"

He knew he had done wrong, and he understood his wife's angry feelings, but he did not want to badmouth the other woman. Hearing her attacked not only made him angry and defensive but lowered his respect for his wife. It also retained the girlfriend on center stage.

That sort of reaction can be avoided if the injured spouse confines curiosity to sessions with a counselor.

Focusing on the Positive

A song from the forties says, "Accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative, latch on to the affirmative, and don't mess with Mr. Inbetween." How can a couple accentuate the positive in a marriage disrupted by infidelity? One way is to arouse the many positive shared experiences. Help couples remember the initial attraction they felt for each other. Have them talk about the special events they enjoyed together or recall the struggles they have come through together.

At a time like this, their thoughts are on the glaring faults. I remind them that they will live with whichever aspect of their mate they choose to emphasize. Choose the negative, and they will live with a diminished person. Accentuate the positive, and they give themselves the best possible qualities to relate to.

The positive can also be accentuated by keeping a sense of humor. The key is to laugh at one's self instead of the other person. The fine line between humor and hostility blurs easily. When ridiculing a mate begins, the fun is over!

To dispel some of the heavy gloom in counseling, I will gently share some foolish behavior of mine in a situation similar to the couple's. For instance, I tell about sometimes silently refusing to do something I had agreed to do. But my refusal to repair a screen so I wouldn't be "henpecked" let in mosquitoes that bit me as often as anyone else. Usually such ridiculous behavior touches a responsive chord, and those I'm counseling begin to see the humor in their own patterns.

I want a couple to move into the future together with optimism, to rebuild dreams and be excited that the level of oneness can be deeper than ever before. This calls for faith that even from this painful, sinful event, God's Spirit can bring good. And I have seen that happen repeatedly. People need to believe the intense feelings of hurt and loss will be replaced by joy and peace, and even by being "in love" again.

Exposing the "Me First" Fallacy

Researchers Dave and Vera Mace have found that couples intent on fulfilling one another's needs are the happiest. Conversely, when unmet needs and disappointments become the focus, the marital squabbles unleash criticism and withdrawal. The unmet needs loom as giants blocking the path to happiness.

Couples do need to communicate areas of disappointment—diplomatically—but they can't remain locked in a critical mode. Rather, each partner—this is crucial—must determinedly focus on pleasing his or her spouse, looking for ways to more effectively meet the other person's needs (Eph. 5:21). When we quit demanding our own rights and spend our time thinking about our spouse's needs, a marvelous phenomenon occurs: we begin to feel more cared for and less frustrated. The tendency toward selfishly keeping score decreases as our excitement in becoming a better mate grows.

The sin of adultery is forgivable. And while no magic will make the past disappear, pastoral help can make it dissipate. Relationships can be restored—sometimes to depths never before realized or even thought possible.

It's not easy, but neither is marriage under any circumstance.

Louis McBurney, a psychiatrist, is founder of Marble Retreat in Marble, Colorado.

BARRIERS TO RECONCILIATION

I'm amazed that reconciliation ever follows a mate's adultery. The wounds are so deep and destructive. Yet in the Christian community lies a remarkable willingness to attempt to repair the damage and rebuild the marriage.

Some common barriers, however, emerge to complicate the process.

1. Anger and unforgiving attitudes. Interestingly, anger will almost always be present in both partners. The injured spouse has every right to be angry. That's apparent. But the offending mate may be just as angry about having been discovered, angry about disappointment the marriage held before the affair, angry at oneself for being so stupid (to have become involved in the affair, or to have married in the first place). Some become increasingly hostile because the spouse can't just let the whole thing drop.

The anger may progress to unforgiving attitudes and on to bitterness, the two most formidable walls to reconciliation. If not torn down, they will form an impassable barrier to loving unity.

2. Pride. When either partner is controlled by self-righteous pride, reconciliation becomes practically impossible. Infidelity marks an obvious failure of commitment. Both husband and wife must honestly take some responsibility. If either is too proud to accept a share of the guilt and the need for change, reconciliation will likely be dropped; it is too heavy for one to bear alone.

3. Fear. Some fear normally accompanies reconciliation. The injured party will naturally be afraid to trust. The guilty mate may be afraid the spouse will not change or will use the sin for leverage. The couple may fear having the incident exposed. Any of these fears can threaten to block reconciliation.

4. The third person. The lover is an unavoidable ingredient in the reconciliation process, yet what may happen in that corner of the triangle remains entirely unpredictable. One thing is certain: The continued presence of the lover will create significant tension.

The unfaithful party often feels responsible to the lover, perhaps as much as to the spouse. The unfaithful spouse's impulses to minister to the former lover should be squelched. Care for the lover must be turned over to someone else and contact eliminated entirely.

5. Old patterns of relationship. Old, inadequate ways of doing things in the marital relationship may hinder reconciliation. For instance, if a couple was relating in a parent-child pattern before the affair, that pattern must be changed to allow a more mature style of relating.

6. The cost of the affair. This factor varies considerably with the situation. Recently I have been counseling a husband and wife who have been fortunate about the fallout of his affair. No one has found out. His lover has admitted her sin and relinquished her claim. There was little emotional involvement in the romance. The husband's sexual encounter was less exciting and less satisfying than his marital sex. The husband had not used lies and deception. Few gifts had been given and little money spent during the romance. Such circumstances are unusual. Affairs commonly accrue major financial or social costs, causing proportionate resentment in the injured spouse.

—Louis McBurney

Copyright © 1986 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

QUESTIONING THE OBVIOUS

Joel C. Hunter

Shaking up cherished assumptions isn’t just for radicals.

Many of us whose intellectually formative years fell during the 1960s will be scarred for life. Remember those days? We accepted very little at face value. We bucked tradition. We questioned authority. We tweaked the Establishment.

Now, closing in on age forty, I find myself a member of the established clergy. I am conservative in many ways. Yet that old habit of questioning the obvious has never left me. If Hegel was right that history is a matter of normalcy (thesis) being met with its opposite (antithesis) and blending into the answer (synthesis), then when we turn the normal upside down, maybe something better will shake out. Even if nothing better comes, the very shaking will have been fun.

Try it with me on a few “obvious truths.” Then you can do it on your own with any other issues.

“Growth Requires Specific Goals”

You have heard it said: Churches that aim at nothing usually hit it.

True enough. Yet holding forth an overall direction for your church’s progress is not the same as setting “growth goals.” A vision for what God could do is one thing. Planning exactly what God will do is quite another.

Many churches take planning as the medicine to cure both the “illnesses” of uncontrolled growth (I’ve heard such growth compared to cancer) and of no growth (such a lack has been compared to death).

Dear me! Is our planning an aid to healthy growth, or is it an attempt to gain control of growth, which only God gives (1 Cor. 3:6)? Growth spurts are by definition not long lasting, nor are growth pauses necessarily permanent. How many parents plan for their six-foot son’s period of uncontrolled growth? How many homeowners tug on their bushes during the winter?

In my last parish, Sunday morning attendance grew from two hundred to nine hundred in six years. When we reached the seven hundred mark, a strange phenomenon gripped us: panic. “Quick! Reactivate the long-range planning committee, or we won’t be stable!” The committee, composed of some of the most intelligent people around, extrapolated the church’s present characteristics ten years into the future. Then our committee neatly set a goal of around 10 percent growth per year (seemed a reasonable figure for God to shoot at). We adjusted church plans accordingly and kept an eagle eye on our charts.

The problem? We got sidetracked, spending our time talking about people rather than with them. We began to invest so much time preparing for the masses of people who were not yet there that we became insensitive to the needs of the individuals already present. Our planning had diverted us from our primary goal: loving people better and trusting God more deeply. Certainly we needed to plan, but we needed to look up from our crystal balls long enough to consider the unmet needs of individuals.

The end of some planning processes is to set number goals and to target a certain segment of the population. Yet making x number of contacts, or striving for x number of conversions, can make us more calculating than faithful. Zeroing in on a certain segment of society sounds logical. But one wonders if the Holy Spirit were hoping someone not in that socioeconomic or age bracket could be included.

We can and should anticipate the growth God could give. Indeed, we did need to prepare materials and facilities to minister to the people being added to our congregation. But we shouldn’t become myopic about arbitrary goals we have decided God should fill.

Perhaps on our way to “quality growth” or flat-out “blessed bigness,” we can figure a way to pay attention to individuals rather than categories. When we started talking about blocks of a thousand people rather than considering the unique needs of each person in that thousand, we realized that something had been lost in our stampede to growth. Numbers don’t fill classrooms and pews; only people do.

As a popular song in those formative sixties wailed, “Do you only care about the bleeding crowd? How about a needing friend? I need a friend.” The acid test: Does your church’s planning for growth provide that friend?

“A Large Church Needs a Large Staff”

You have heard it said: Quality ministries require a quality staff.

Hmmm. I wonder. A former parish saw the staff grow from one pastor and two part-time secretaries to four pastors, four program staff, and five on administrative staff. Expense for staff rocketed from under $30,000 to over $300,000 a year.

There was some discomfort about the large staff, but we really believed a good-sized staff was necessary to answer everyone’s needs. I’m not so sure anymore. We followed the church experts’ advice on so-many-program-staff-per-hundred-in-worship, so few people questioned our need for them. And we had hard workers and no inner conflicts. Our staff situation was the best it could be. But we staggered under a huge building debt (“Not too bad for a congregation our size,” said we). Our missions giving floundered at only ten percent, while staff expenditures soared to nearly sixty percent of our budget. Comments began to float to the surface in conversations:

“The staff is running this church.”

“Oh, I’m not qualified to do that. We have professional staff who can do it so much better.”

“A staff member didn’t even meet with our committee. We must not be important enough.”

Whoa. Something was wrong.

One of my hopes in this new parish (I’m virtually starting over), is growth in ministries without a correspondingly large growth in hired staff. I know that is a bit naive; maybe it can’t be done. But I’m beginning to wonder if people will feel the empowering of the Holy Spirit if they continually refer every problem or pressure or potential to the professionals.

Besides, how much less would it cost to train laity than hire permanent staff? And-big question-how much more of the budget could be spent on missions, building, program ministries, or church planting?

Maybe we hire staff sometimes because we don’t want to bite the bullet to recruit and maintain volunteers. When we hire too readily, perhaps we forfeit lay ownership of the church’s vision and lose the pressure that brings out the best in us.

I’m convinced that a paid staff is God’s plan for many churches. But wouldn’t it be refreshing to see God grow a huge church in which the staff was an equipped congregation?

“People Who Leave Are Disloyal”

You have heard it said that pastors leave churches because God has “called” them elsewhere. We all understand, don’t we, that a pastor’s ultimate loyalty cannot be to a local congregation, but only to God and his church universal. Granted, we pastors seem to hear a call more clearly when the present ministry is not going well. Yet the idea of a pastor moving on to develop new ministry opportunities is widely accepted.

But often we don’t grant lay people the same freedom. Why are pastors “growing” if they change churches, while lay people are “disloyal”?

We tend to call our brothers and sisters every name not in the Book if their experiences point them toward another type of church family. We feel abandoned.

When the pastor leaves, congregations say, “We knew we couldn’t keep him forever” or “We just weren’t right for each other. Glory be to God!” When a member leaves, pastors or congregations say, “I wonder what we did to offend her?” or “What makes him so holier-than-thou?”

When people leave one congregation for another, we rarely recognize the departure publicly. But there is an unspoken sense that the congregation has failed or in some way is not good enough. When pastors leave, however, there is often a fond farewell. There is a sense that the church and the pastor have profited from their time together.

I remember going to such a reception for a pastor. Soft and tender words were said about him and spoken by him to others. Hope for some future contact was expressed. A sense of progress pervaded.

Yet I remember also a family in that church coming to a new experience of God and wanting to serve him in ways that were not realistic options at their present church. They sought fellowship with people who’d had similar experiences, with a church where they could use their ministry gifts. That family finally joined another church.

There were no touching words of farewell. Despite (perhaps because of) all that family had meant to this congregation, there were no celebrations, no tokens of appreciation exchanged. There was a load of guilt given and received. The hope was for no future contact. It reminded me of Mark 9:38-“We tried to hinder him because he was not following us.”

If we believe in the priesthood of all believers, surely lay people as well as pastors can be led to a different ministry occasionally. We could hope that the different ministry might happen within our own congregation, but if not, let it be well with them. Why not a public handshake or hug of appreciation? Why not a prayer for continued ministry and growth? Neither the church nor the person needs automatically to assume guilt. Separation could be a healthy way of improving relationships that God intends to use for parallel, not overlapping, purposes.

“Rules Must Be Rigid”

You have heard it said that good government treats all people alike. Indeed, church governments create rules (most prefer the word policies) to ensure that everyone gets treated the same.

Watch out! Good policy does make clear how people can be involved in the church, but it also has at least three dangerous tendencies.

First, policy (and church programming, too) operates by categorizing people. If you fit into such-and-such category, our church offers such-and-such for you. Policy says, “You must fit us.”

The problem is plain. While the church categorizes for the sake of simplicity, no one I know goes to church as part of a category; everyone comes as an individual. When the church speaks primarily in category-talk, ministry dies.

I’ll never forget an early ministry error when Martha came into the church office. She had been a pillar in the church longer than anyone could remember. She made a simple request to use a piece of office equipment, and I responded with church policy: “The trustees said that unauthorized persons are not allowed to use the machines . . .” A reasonable request met by a reasonable policy. Ha!

“Listen, Rev-er-end”-she drew it out so I could consider what trouble I was in-“I’m Martha Roberts, remember?” I had to admit, she was qualified to use the machine. There was no good reason not to let her.

The point is this: Rules can’t cover everyone. Martha, of course, could use equipment even if someone forgot to authorize her. A six-year-old child who wanted to play with the computer could not. Fair isn’t always fair. People seldom fit neatly into categories.

Second, churches use policy as a cop-out. Instead of asking hard questions, or saying no face to face, we forbid an activity generally.

Judy wanted to start an aerobics class in a church. The church board considered aerobics, which itself didn’t seem too bad, but then the inevitable “what ifs” started. “What if she uses sleazy songs?” “What if someone gets hurt?” “Judy is terrific, but what if the church klutz who likes to lead everything wants to lead an aerobics class, too?”

So the church responded to Judy with a policy, instead of providing the kind of leadership that develops people. Instead of asking questions such as, “Judy, would you use Christian music?” or “Could you help us figure out what our legal responsibilities are?” Instead of, possibly, “Mrs. Klutz, we don’t believe aerobics is your gift . . .” the church took the easy way out and closed the door on any aerobics ministry.

Third, policy-making boards seldom develop the leadership potential of the individuals on those boards. The board usually deteriorates into a group that arranges rather than becoming individuals who influence. The system of boards making policy usually strangles individual possibilities for leadership. When was the last time you saw someone come off the ruling board better able to respond to people as an individual spiritual leader?

There are alternatives to policy government. For example, in our church a small group of lay people formed specifically to help individuals develop their ministries. Informally called “The Dream Machine,” the members of the group do not make people fit into church categories. Rather, on behalf of the church, they ask needed questions and work with people to make the individuals’ dreams of ministry come true.

All of this questioning is no fun at all without faith. Nor is it effective. We can only improve the situation by recognizing that God is sovereign. To relax enough to question traditional assumptions, we must realize that traditions are there because they are what has worked best so far. If they are still best, they will hold up under scrutiny.

But if they could use some reform, maybe God can use us in the shakeup. We may be too mellow to picket, but we are not so established we cannot pick at. I believe, with Gamaliel, that if new truths are God’s, they will prevail.

Joel C. Hunter is pastor of Northland Community Church in Longwood, Florida.

Copyright © 1986 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

THEY’RE OK WE’RE NOT: BUILDING HEALTHY CHURCH ESTEEM

Dave Owen

A church won’t ascend to great heights if it feels down in the dumps.

Recently, our church’s membership growth plateaued. Conditions for growth were excellent: a recently developed suburban setting; over 20 percent of our people were active in various outreach programs; new people were being assimilated into the body; and small-group life was strong. Moreover, ours was a young fellowship, most of the members truly wanted the church to grow, and spiritual commitment was strong.

I was stumped. Our church had been growing at a 32 percent annual rate. Why the lull?

Finally a lay leader unwittingly gave me a clue. Vicki had been visiting relatives the previous weekend, looking for opportunities to share her faith. When she told a cousin and his wife about our visitation program, they said, “That sounds exciting! We wish our church had that kind of evangelism training.”

When she mentioned our class for new believers, they reacted with friendly envy. They even asked Vicki for the curriculum the class was using.

As she continued to share this conversation with me, I felt increasingly grateful. After being a shade depressed for nearly a year, I was gratified to know some growing believers would love to be involved in a church like ours.

It began to dawn on me that my attitude toward the church had gradually changed over the last year. I had analyzed every possible cause of the church’s decline in growth. I had also studied the great things happening in growing churches, with the inevitable comparisons. In the process, I had begun to see our church as a kind of second-class citizen, feeling like a woman who stays home to raise kids (one of the finest, most demanding tasks) and considers herself “just a housewife.”

Now, hearing an outsider’s perspective made me feel like the farmer in the old story who became discouraged with his spread and hired an auctioneer to sell it all. The auctioneer walked around the farm taking inventory and then published an enthusiastically worded auction notice in the local paper. Reading it, the farmer realized it described everything he had ever wanted-and promptly took his farm off the market.

Church growth is extremely complex, and my previous analyses had uncovered several things in need of improvement. Yet I had missed a hidden factor-the loss of congregational self-esteem. I had unconsciously begun to consider ours a second-rate church, and many members had joined me in that estimation.

A great loss of enthusiasm and outreach resulted. Who invites friends to a church-even his own-if he sees it as second-rate? And even if someone does invite a friend, the lack of enthusiasm in his voice betrays him.

Low self-esteem not only cripples individuals, it cripples churches.

Causes of Low Church Esteem

What causes low church esteem? Several factors give it a foothold.

One is unhealthy comparisons with others. The truth is valid not only for individuals, but also for churches: “Each one should test himself, without comparing himself to somebody else, for each one should carry his own load” (Gal. 6:4-5). It is easy to find churches with a broader music ministry than ours, more programs for children, more pastoral staff, or better physical facilities.

There’s nothing wrong with studying good models. Healthy observation of fruitful churches can raise our sights and challenge us to new excellence. However, it becomes unhealthy when we use another church with different opportunities and resources as a standard. We then raise expectations for our church that may never be God’s desire for us, or that are presently unrealistic. The result? We look down on our church.

Since we have no evening worship service, several members occasionally attend evening services at other churches. Some simply enjoyed the celebrations. Others began to say, “Why don’t we do this?” or “Why can’t we try that?” Some suggestions had potential, and we incorporated them. Others were unrealistic or outright contradictions of our understanding of the Bible and philosophy of ministry. Still, some members began to view our church as inferior because of this comparison.

A second cause is distorted perceptions of success. Large and beautiful buildings, sharp presentations, and expensive media programs tend to be seen as success. On this scale, most smaller churches suffer.

Success is fine, when defined as accomplishing God’s intentions. God wants us to reach nonbelievers with the gospel and help them become growing disciples in his church. By this measure, however, both smaller and larger churches may or may not be successful.

Some of our members actually criticized us for such a large proportion of new believers! They forgot that in God’s eyes this was a high compliment and provided an exciting opportunity to be mature “parents” to the many spiritual “children.”

A lack of challenging Bible studies for advanced believers created part of the problem-and we needed to address those needs-but we could not overlook the equally great challenge to reach more nonbelievers and teach young believers.

We were already successful in God’s eyes, but not in our own. To quote the ten unbelieving spies who explored the promised land, “We seemed like grasshoppers in our own eyes” (Num. 13:33).

A third cause of low church esteem is the insignificance of the familiar. Joining a church is somewhat like getting married. In the honeymoon stage, excitement is high and great new discoveries are being made. Ten years later, however, both partners may be taking one another for granted. They have not become different persons, yet their perception of one another has changed.

Many tend to place a high value on feelings, which sometimes are produced by the excitement of something new. With the passage of time, the newness wears off, and the feelings naturally fade. People begin to see each other as an ordinary part of life with diminished value. Both marriages and churches are in danger when this happens.

Even Jesus’ hometown people perceived him differently, and he was unable to do many miracles there. He was not so special in Nazareth after thirty years.

This can happen in a church with long-time attenders. Some continue to be enthusiastic as they discover new gifts and rise to new ministry challenges. Others would rather be loved than love, be served than serve. They attend, but they perceive their church as humdrum and commonplace, and therefore insignificant.

Self-esteem suffers when we see ourselves as ordinary, perhaps even substandard; it is strong when we see ourselves as special and unique. A church will quickly lose its growth momentum when congregational self-esteem begins to slip.

Raising Church Esteem

How can we raise a church’s self-esteem? Some external actions are relatively easy to identify and implement. Other remedies deal with underlying attitudes and are more difficult to develop.

A church’s self-esteem begins in the mind and heart of its pastor. The pastor’s attitude will eventually permeate the congregation. It’s a subtle process that takes time, but it happens. Therefore, church leaders must esteem both themselves, as persons of unique worth in God’s eyes, and their church family, which has unique worth and a special mission for God.

For several reasons, the previous year had been a time of questioning my own worth as a person and competence as a spiritual leader. This doubt bled my confidence in the church along with my own self-confidence.

After Vicki’s phone call, I planned a week away for prayer, reflection, and the study of a growing church. I noticed its pastor and staff respected their church and had confidence in its future.

One highly competent spiritual leader in the Old Testament also demonstrated this vividly. Nehemiah, when invited to a peace conference, explained he could not go, saying, “I am carrying on a great project and cannot go down” (Neh. 6:3). Church esteem buds in the heart of a pastor who sees his church’s mission as a great project, carried on by great people, utilizing the power of a great God.

When this esteem is present, it is important to help build it in others. Some happens spontaneously as overflow from a pastor’s full heart, but I have also cultivated intentional methods to build esteem for individual members and the church body alike:

I purposefully teach and preach that God considers us his redeemed people, called to be his special instruments to build the Kingdom of God. Solid biblical footings shore up sagging spirits.

I publicly recognize what the Lord is doing in the lives of individuals, either from the pulpit or in the church newsletter. I find no harm in recognizing the channel through whom the Spirit works, as long as God receives the glory.

Many churches use certificates presented to not only leaders, but servants-those who drive the youth to outings, clean the building, sing in the choir, and work in the nursery.

Along with recognition of service to the body, we’ve learned to publicize the way God is working in people’s lives. Last week a young believer shared how it had been over a month since she had stopped taking medication, with her doctor’s approval, for her once-daily seizures, and she had not experienced a single recurrence. To celebrate God’s power like this not only gives God glory but also raises the esteem of the church family, which begins to see itself as a people among whom God’s Spirit is working.

I also privately recognize people’s service with personal thank-you notes or phone calls.

Our church owns a two-acre lawn that traditionally has been difficult to keep trimmed with volunteer labor. This year one family made it their ministry, and did it well. Believe me, I made sure they were thanked both privately and publicly!

I try to recognize ministries of the body as a whole. Recently, one of our laymen was in the hospital with a severe back problem. Members visited and prayed for him and dropped off food for his family. He felt deeply loved. We made no bones about openly celebrating the love for one another that God had given our church family.

I continually challenge members to try new ministries and discover new gifts. And we provide training to help them become fruitful.

One young friend became active in a church that enlisted her as a Sunday school teacher. Although only a young Christian, she was given a teacher’s manual and thrust into the class with no training or previous experience. Before long she quit in total discouragement and eventually dropped out of the church.

By contrast, a young believer in a different church expressed a desire to minister to elderly people. Her pastor gave her a few names of people in a local nursing home who needed personal visits. She began to visit them each week, and several people in a small-group Bible study gave her encouragement and suggestions. For several years she carried on this ministry of love, and in the process gained a sense of confidence that the Lord could work through her. She continues as an excited, growing Christian-happy with her church.

The Way We See It Shapes It

We can perceive our churches in vastly different ways-either as a top-notch unit of the worldwide body of Christ, with great people, special leadership, God’s gifts, and a unique mission; or we can view it as a bunch of dull, ordinary people with everyday gifts and a second-rate capability for doing God’s work.

Our mental image of the church will likely determine the outward reality. This vital perception will either promote or undermine its growth. I thank God I came out of the spiritual doldrums and learned to esteem my church as God’s gift to our community and his world. It was the needed first step in removing a hindrance to the Spirit and restoring a healthy climate in our church.

Dave Owen is pastor of Millard Community Church in Omaha, Nebraska.

MY ODD ANOINTING

In seminary I was impressed with the way Jesus used unusual means to make powerful points-for instance, riding into Jerusalem on a donkey.

I tried taking my cue from Jesus in my first church after seminary. I figured communication would be enhanced by working with live animals.

Like a turtle.

A turtle makes progress only if it dares stick out its neck. That’s a pretty good posture for Jesus’ disciples, too, I thought. So, my first week there, I asked the kids to find me a turtle. That week, some girls found a turtle and brought it to church, and an elderly couple, while taking a drive in the country, had to slam on the brakes as a turtle ambled across the road.

Eureka! I had two turtles!

The next Sunday I stood before the congregation, trying to exude proper Princeton decorum. With my black Geneva gown accented by red piping, I looked like I came from John Calvin’s academic stock. Calling the small fries forward, I began my talk.

As I held up one turtle for everybody to see, I tapped on its shell. He ducked into it, obviously not going anywhere. “That’s like a person acting as if Jesus weren’t walking beside him,” I observed.

The turtle, meanwhile, hidden in its shell, spotted all the strange faces and got a bad case of nerves. In front of the whole congregation, the poor creature urinated all over my new robe.

The congregation absolutely howled. The colonial sanctuary, built in 1843, never shook as much as on that Sunday.

My speech professor at Princeton had advised us, “When in trouble, breathe deeply, back up, and begin again.” Always the obedient pupil, I did as he said. I acted as though I were not drenched and quickly returned the turtle to his box, commenting that strange faces do funny things to shy turtles.

Picking up the second turtle, I started again. I tapped on the shell, this time holding it well away from my robe. The turtle ducked inside and . . . held its composure. Relieved, I asked, “What happens to a turtle that refuses to stick out its neck?”

A tyke shot up his hand, exclaiming, “It goes tinkle-tinkle!” That brought the house down again. Turning beet red, I thought my ministry had been destroyed in its second week.

But God can teach a proper Princetonian a few lessons. The nervous turtle made the people see that the new preacher was all too human. Just like them. And they accepted me, stains and all, although they did tend to shy away from my new robe.

-Jack R. Van Ens

Arvada Presbyterian Church

Arvada, Colorado

Copyright © 1986 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

LEADERSHIP BIBLIOGRAPHY—WORSHIP

Ronald B. Allen

Ronald Allen has spent the last decade and a half preparing worship leaders at Western Conservative Baptist Seminary in Portland, Oregon. LEADERSHIP asked him to list his favorite books for architects of worship.

Up With Worship by Anne Ortlund (Gospel Light).

Begin here. This little book sets us on the path toward the high and holy task of the worship of God. Though my copy is dog-eared and heavily marked, its contents are still fresh. Anne Ortlund presents basic notions of worship in small, tasty morsels. She describes worship as admiring God. Her motive for worship is rightly in italics: Lord, this church service is for You. I’m here to give You pleasure.

In His Presence: Appreciating Your Worship Tradition by Robert N. Schaper (Nelson).

For those with curiosity about worship during the “slight gap” from Acts to the Pilgrims, Schaper is a pleasant guide. Although he evidences a strong interest in the history of liturgy and sacramental thought, he treats other traditions with warmth and balance.

O Come, Let Us Worship by Robert G. Rayburn (Baker).

This guide for pastors has many good emphases (providing order and structure to worship, emphasizing the role of music), not a few personal biases (mainly songs he doesn’t like), and a splendid development of the concept of “spirit and truth” in true worship.

Worship Is a Verb by Robert E. Webber (Word).

Nonliturgical worshipers and nonsacramentalists may be put off a bit by this book. One reviewer says of Webber: “He wants to make us all Catholics.” But perhaps it is precisely those from a free church tradition (and I am one) who need Webber’s writings to face squarely the issues of order and structure in biblical and historic worship patterns.

Remember that slight gap? If we choose worship patterns that differ from historical models, it ought not be simply because we are ignorant of such precedents.

Jubilate! Church Music in the Evangelical Tradition by Donald P. Hustad (Hope).

The major role music plays in worship can hardly be exaggerated. Yet how often music is misused, misunderstood, or minimized. This book, Hustad’s church music masterwork, warrants study by church musicians, worship leaders, and their pastors. We delight most in returning God’s gift of music to him with joy. Hustad gives us perspective and balance, knowledge and appreciation.

The Worship of God by Ralph P. Martin (Eerdmans).

According to Martin, the worship of God is an act of the community and is to be done under the authority of the Word of God. This significant book by the distinguished New Testament professor goes a long way toward placing worship in proper theological perspective. The reader (and practitioner) of this book will avoid the common contemporary error of merely searching for a “worship experience,” a foible Eugene Peterson has described as Neo-Baalism. Biblically, our intention must be more than achieving an experience; together we glorify God!

Worship: Rediscovering the Missing Jewel by Ronald Allen and Gordon Borror (Multnomah).

Gordon would never forgive me if I were to neglect our book. We attempted to speak to worship leaders in those evangelical churches that are neither charismatic nor liturgical and who have new perspectives to discover about the worship of God.

As one reviewer asked, “What are two Conservative Baptists doing writing on worship?” We wanted to bring a balanced perspective, deeply biblical and pointedly eclectic, enriched by traditions other than our own. Although the state of the heart precedes the state of the art in biblical worship, the state of the art often needs improvement.

Britt Taylor Collins’s cover summarizes the intent of the book: a crusty heart chipped away to reveal a multifaceted jewel responding to God in reverent wonder.

1986 SPRING QUARTER 43

Copyright © 1986 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

IDEAS THAT WORK

W. Karl Smith with Florence Johnson

Bulletin covers that aid worship

BULLETIN COVERS THAT AID WORSHIP

“Many churches display their building on their worship folders,” I heard another pastor comment in a course on church management, “but the church is so much more than a building.”

His comment unearthed my buried dissatisfaction with most church bulletins: They don’t lead people to worship.

My own church had been purchasing mass-produced bulletin covers that seldom pertained to either the particular Sunday’s theme or the needs of the people. I began dreaming of relevant, worship-inspiring bulletin covers.

To the drawing board

Immediately the practical concerns hit. Even if I could dream up a new format for our worship folders, how would I get the idea produced?

“Talk to Ike Austin,” a friend advised. “He’s a print genius.”

Over breakfast each week for the next three months, Ike—a photographer, artist, and designer—and I brainstormed ideas. We talked of depicting musical themes or reproducing religious drawings, but finally settled on using Scripture in a fresh way. We wanted to visually express the foundation of our convictions.

The first theme we tackled was God and what we wanted people to know about him. Our search for a key verse led us to Psalm 103:8, “The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in lovingkindness.”

I compiled the various scriptural names for God and listed them in Anglicized form with their meanings. For example: Logos, the Word; Adonai, Lord.

Ike’s design emphasized our key verse in bold print, with these names of God lightly screened and repeated in the background. This cover became the pattern for our subsequent work.

Up to full speed

On our second folder, we wanted to state something about the people at Oak Hill Church.

My former associate targeted 1 Peter 2:9 (“You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people. … “) as the key verse. Ike suggested displaying the names of everyone at Oak Hill Church in the screened background. Not Abraham or Moses or the pastor, but Mike, Kim, Rachelle, Ryan, and 346 others—all special people belonging to God.

We were amazed at how meaningful this idea became to our congregation. Frequently children would circle their names and proudly show the folder to their grandparents and friends.

The third bulletin focused on how people serve the Lord in their jobs. We decided to list scores of vocations in the cover’s background. As we compiled our list, church member Ken Pieh recommended the shortcut of looking at the back of an IRS tax form. The cover’s background eventually included the words accountant, blacksmith, forester, plasterer, chauffeur, hotel clerk, historian, pilot and dozens of other occupations, with the bold-faced admonition: “Whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus.”

Our next theme, fellowship, led us to use John 13:35 as the key text, with other verses containing Christ’s words on love repeated in the background.

When we needed a folder for our missions conference, I obtained permission to print the text of “Christ for the World We Sing.” This key text was surrounded by the names of countries from A to Z.

I was thrilled when one of our members, Blair Carlson, asked for permission to use that design concept to promote the Billy Graham “Mission: Sheffield” crusade in England. Every city, township, and county in that area of England was listed in the background of the handbook’s cover. The same pattern will be enlisted for the handbook of Graham’s upcoming Paris crusade.

Can it work elsewhere?

I realize how privileged I am to have a person like Ike in the congregation, a virtual designer-in-residence who works without charge. Yet I believe every church holds someone whose artistic and visual skills are greater than we might suspect. Many times these hidden artisans would be thrilled to serve the church with their talents.

At Oak Hill we followed one simple pattern for all the covers in our series. And we built slowly, producing just five covers the first year, and two more this year.

The cost is feasible. When we printed a year’s supply of the first five bulletins (in red ink on tan bond paper), we discovered the expense was actually less than buying folders from a commercial bulletin company.

Benefits

We originally copied the weekly order of service and other information on the inside of each cover. After two weeks I realized we were making a big mistake.

“What are we doing printing on these bulletins?” I asked my surprised secretary.

We decided to make the covers worship folders, with the information inserted on separate sheets. We’ve reaped several benefits from this approach.

Since the worship folders themselves are not printed on, extras can be used in subsequent weeks, reinforcing the teaching of the folder and saving money. The open space on the inside allows people to jot prayer requests, note sermon content, or indicate needs. I encourage people to seize the creative ideas that come to them in church, and write their thoughts to act upon later. I want our people to use the folders.

This year we added two covers to the series. One of the new covers is built upon the “cloud of witnesses” mentioned in Hebrews 12:1. The cover’s background lists heroes of faith from biblical times to the present, from Abel, Enoch, and Noah to missionary Dale Bjork and the Swedish Baptist leaders that form Oak Hill’s roots. This cover sparked one of our members to write biographical sketches of people in the church—”the great people of Oak Hill,” she said, “that some might never hear about.”

The covers often serve as catalysts in this way. Different covers have generated ideas for future sermons.

At Oak Hill, even the commonplace church bulletin now serves our goal to communicate God’s message. We believe that if we do it artistically, visually, and creatively, people will remember what they see. W. Karl Smith is pastor of Oak Hill Baptist Church, Minneapolis, Minnesota.

Florence Johnson is director of New Paragraph, a writing service in St. Paul, Minnesota.

MORE IDEAS

Good Shepherds

The group for single men in Skyline Wesleyan Church, Lemon Grove, California, was looking for a way to help the single moms in the congregation.

The men formed a team called “Good Shepherds” and designated one Saturday each month as “Good Shepherd Day.” On this day, single parents bring their children (registered ahead) to the church by 9:00. Each child brings a sack lunch and one dollar for a snack. The Good Shepherds then take the children for an outing, like a hike, a trip to the beach, or a visit to a park or zoo, returning to the church around 4 P.M.

The program gives single parents a much-needed day off, and provides the children with positive male role models.

“But the men benefit the most,” says Singles Pastor Chuck Shores. “They gain an experience they wouldn’t otherwise enjoy.

“The genius of the program is its simplicity,” Shores adds. “There are no materials to print and no leaders to train. Lay people run it, and one person can easily handle recruiting the Shepherds and deciding what to do.”

A few restrictions keep the program on an even keel. Good Shepherd Day is restricted to children who don’t need diapers, and the Good Shepherds always travel together for the protection of the children.

“The program hasn’t changed at all since it began six years ago,” Shores notes. “It simply took off and has flown smoothly since.”

Good People for Hire

Many churches draw from a deacon’s fund or other source to aid unemployed church members. But when people are out of work for an extended period, those funds dry up quickly. The problem for many churches becomes how to help people strapped by long-term unemployment.

Pastor Arthur C. Jacobson of Central Baptist Church of Joy in Spokane, Washington, devised an ingenious solution for four unemployed men in his congregation. Drawing from his prior experience in advertising, Jacobson wrote a newspaper advertisement detailing the men’s experience and abilities. Another member of the congregation designed and typeset the ad, which ran in Spokane’s major newspapers. The cost of the ad, approximately $150, was paid for by the church’s diaconate fund.

The ad endorsed the men’s hardworking and faithful character. A portion read, “We have a few good men who need employment, and we at Central Baptist Church of Joy highly recommend them.” Prospective employers could contact the men directly or through the church office.

Though the ad ran just one day, it a led to a full-time job in the computer department of a bank for one man, several temporary construction-related jobs for another, and job leads for a third.

The ad also yielded an unusual fringe benefit: One couple visited the church because they had noticed the ad and wanted to see a church that would support its members in this way.

“We’ve always used the diaconate fund to help people help themselves,” Jacobson notes. “So we felt it was one of the best ways to spend that money. Helping our people obtain employment is definitely the Lord’s work.”

Sermons by Request

How can pastors be sure they’re preaching sermons people really want to hear?

Ask the people.

Wooddale Church, located in suburban Minneapolis, followed up on Pastor Leith Anderson’s idea to conduct a telephone, advertising, and mail campaign to ask people in the community what sermons they would like to hear. The church titled the campaign “Sermons the Twin Cities Want to Hear.”

Advertisements placed in metro and suburban newspapers explained the campaign. Leading off with the line “You can choose the sermons that the Twin Cities wants to hear,” the ads invited readers to “tell us what sermon to preach” by mailing suggestions to “Sermons,” care of the church address, or calling the church office. Church volunteers also made some two hundred phone calls to numbers selected randomly from the metro telephone directory. Respondents were asked what sermon they would most like to hear, if any.

The results proved fascinating. One campaign yielded these topics: “How to React to Unkindness,” “Anything but Money,” “Will God Let Nuclear War Destroy the World?” “Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People?” “How to Be a Positive Person,” and “Raise Your P.Q. (Parenting Quotient).”

Once research was completed and sermon topics selected, the church began another ad campaign announcing, “Here are the topics you chose.” Each ad carried the theme statement, “We Are Listening—You Make the Difference!” and listed the topics Pastor Anderson would address during the six-week series. The church also mailed each phone respondent the results of the survey, which acted as an informal invitation to hear the sermons.

The church’s aim, according to Associate Pastor Doug Fagerstrom, was twofold. First, the church gained a clear picture of the community’s needs and concerns. The random selection of phone participants helped ensure responses from unchurched people.

Second, the campaign offered convincing evidence to the community that Wooddale Church is sensitive to people’s real needs. “You communicate that you’re a church that’s listening,” Fagerstrom says.

As one note scribbled on a weekly registration card during the series confirmed: “Saw your ad and came. Thanks for the great sermon. It’s working!”

—Reported by Terry White

What’s Worked for You?

Each account of a local church doing something in a fresh, effective way earns up to $30. Send your description of a helpful ministry, method, or approach to:

Ideas That Work

LEADERSHIP

465 Gundersen Drive

Carol Stream, IL 60188

Copyright © 1986 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

HAVE I COME TO THE WRONG CHURCH?

Jim Berkley

What do you do when the call you’ve accepted seems like a wrong number?

Alan Taylor felt he was growing fat at First Presbyterian Church in Auburn, California. Not that he was putting on weight; Alan’s trim, well-groomed appearance spoke quietly of accomplishment. He suspected his ministry was assuming the indolent ease.

His nine years in Auburn, a burgeoning Sierra foothill community where forty-niners once panned for gold, had been happy. Maybe too happy. After unbroken success, Alan began to wonder, Am I becoming content to relax and enjoy the journey? His people freely expressed their affection for the Taylors, giving them tickets to the Sacramento Symphony and the use of ski condos at Lake Tahoe. Alan was no freeloader-First Church had grown from four hundred to nearly a thousand under his leadership-but his tendency to reside in the ease of a comfortable position disturbed him.

Writing had provided Alan’s recent excitement. His two books produced speaking engagements and ego strokes. Writing stimulated him, while the church remained a predictable, mastered enterprise.

“I don’t want to just be coasting in my forties,” he confided to his wife, Sue. “I need to stay alive, to be challenged by my ministry, not just my next book.”

Alan’s daughter contributed to his growing restlessness. “For fifteen years Nikki was a kid you’d want to order from a catalogue,” Alan explains. “She was everything you could want.” But adolescence didn’t treat her gently. Boys twice broke her heart, she was cut from a team, and, in her failing self-esteem, she took up with the wrong crowd at school. In a year’s time, Nikki degenerated from the perfect child to the epitome of a troubled teen.

The Taylors agonized over every turn for the worse. After an all-night escapade with a boy they had forbidden Nikki to see, the fallout included her extreme rebellion and sullenness. Alan and Sue became frantic. Something had to be done for Nikki. For the family! “If we can only get her out of town,” Alan suggested to Sue, “if we can extract her from the chain of negative elements, Nikki might have a chance.”

Enter Broadmore Presbyterian Church of Seattle. Ralph Bates, the chairman of the pastor nominating committee, had appreciated Alan’s books. As they talked over the phone, he said he visualized Alan as a dynamic “name” pastor to lend prestige to Broadmore Presbyterian.

The church was a proud dowager, existing on a handsome endowment and waning reputation. Ralph could remember when it was the church in Seattle. At one time the university president, the mayor, and half the physicians at Children’s Hospital were members. However, the last seventeen years witnessed an exodus of members as Dr. Hedgepath occupied the pulpit with friendly gentility but ebbing effectiveness.

Ralph figured the church needed a shot in the arm, and Alan Taylor was the man to do it. He and two others flew in to talk with Alan. Alan met them at the airport and took them to Old Sacramento for lunch.

Ralph painted a glowing picture of Broadmore Presbyterian, its grand history, the beautiful Gothic sanctuary, and its pivotal role in meeting Seattle’s needs. Then he turned to Alan and flatly declared, “I believe you’re just the man we need to restore the position of our church.” The other two committee members looked surprised by Ralph’s license, but Alan was hooked by the challenge.

They spent the better part of two days talking about the church and Alan’s strengths in ministry. The delegation returned to Seattle convinced they had their man, and Alan rejoiced with Sue over the exciting prospects. After the Taylors’ trip to Seattle that took on the air of a royal visit, the pieces all fell into place. Alan announced his resignation in Auburn, and the Taylors were warmly feted and graciously released. By summer they were ensconced in a Seattle home with a view of Mount Rainier.

Excitement bubbled in the Taylor household-until the first Session meeting. Alan was completely unprepared for what transpired: “I expected some kind of jockeying for position over who runs the church. Usually the board takes an initial wait-and-see approach, but not at Broadmore. Ralph Bates tied into me that very first meeting!”

Dr. Jekyll came on like Mr. Hyde. “Alan,” Ralph chided, “who gave you permission to change our worship? You may have played fast and loose in laidback California, but this is Broadmore. Traditions mean something here.”

Is this the same guy who told me Broadmore needed changes? Alan wondered. What gives? All I did was move the announcements to the beginning of the service. Alan backpedaled. “Ralph, I’m confused. I didn’t mean to step on any toes, but I thought from our conversations in Sacramento that Broadmore was ripe for innovation.” And why a public forum to upbraid me?

Ralph responded with an air of innocence. “I’m sorry if you were misled, but we need some stability now, not a lot of new ideas floating around.”

Who did he think misled me? Alan wondered. He felt like a victim of false advertising.

The reality of Broadmore Presbyterian, at least as Ralph Bates now painted it, was not at all to Alan’s liking. He had come to give strong, innovative leadership to a church wandering in a muddle. That enticed him. But this?

On the way out of the meeting, Ralph steered Alan into a corner. “Alan,” he whispered, “what you want to do, this church needs. But wait. Let me be a buffer for you; lay low for a while.”

“But that’s not me. I’ve always been a strong leader, and this place needs a leader. In two years, it could go totally dormant!”

“Alan, I know this church. Don’t upset the gentry. We’ll all look bad.”

“I’ll think about it” was all Alan could promise. So now he wants me to chaplain the status quo, does he? And why was the rest of the Session so strangely silent?

Alan had enjoyed warm relationships with the chairmen of previous calling committees. They had become his best friends who stood with him in difficult times. In Seattle, Ralph Bates proved his chief antagonist, opposing Alan at every turn. It disheartened Alan as their views of the church and Alan’s role in it clashed like two air masses over Kansas.

Other unexpected problems fell on Alan with the leaves of fall. The church ethos differed from Auburn to Seattle. In California the people represented a plethora of backgrounds, so no one way of doing things prevailed. Not so in Seattle. The people of Broadmore Presbyterian cherished long-established expectations. This caught Alan off guard.

For instance, an unwritten assumption governed staff size: There shall never be more ministers than when old Dr. Kennedy was pastor in the glory days of the late fifties. If he could handle things with two associates, so can anyone else.

For Alan, adding staff at First Church had been a management matter, not a visceral statement. He couldn’t live with such an arbitrary imposition. He told the Session, “I need another staff pastor. Three of us cannot adequately meet the needs of a two-thousand-member congregation, especially if we intend to grow!” Ralph opposed it vigorously, but the Session eventually approved it. The feeling was, “You’re the new pastor; we’ll go with you this time and see what happens.” Although he won the battle, Alan had shed some blood on the battlefield, and he had never been wounded like that before.

What have I done here? he wondered. Did I panic and bolt when I should have stayed put in Auburn? Did I make a decision in the midst of emotional turmoil and turn off my brain in the process? Was I making God’s decisions for him? And if so, is all this the result of my disobedience?

A second front drained Alan’s resources from the church battles: Nikki did not take the move well. Seattle was not her home. She missed the hot summers and the inner tube runs down the American River. Too insecure to make new friends in an established social climate, Nikki retreated into her bitterness over what had been done to her.

Throughout the summer Nikki coped by sleeping fourteen hours a day. With school in September, her passive symptoms of depression turned active. “Mom,” she ventured one day dragging in from a terrible day at school, “you and Dad would be a lot better off without me, wouldn’t you?”

Sue was startled. “What do you mean by that?”

“It’s just that I’m such a loser. If I were dead, you wouldn’t have to bother with me any more.”

“Nikki, that’s not at all true, and you know it.” Sue was stunned, but when she found a large bottle of sleeping pills squirreled away in Nikki’s dresser, she and Alan hurried her to a psychiatrist. Afraid they might lose Nikki, they wondered, Have we made a fatal error?

The combination of Nikki’s troubles and the dashing of expectations for the church shook Alan. The excitement of the move had bleached out in the first wash. With Ralph nipping at his heels like a hyperactive sheep dog, the Session meetings drained Alan. The people seemed cold and distant, as if they were waiting to pass judgment on what this bigshot from California could perform.

“By December,” Alan recalls, “I was one day away from leaving the ministry. I contacted a friend in business to see if I might do something besides preaching. If somebody had come along with an offer, I’d have been gone.” The gray Seattle days obscured his view of Mount Rainier.

Alan’s problem with Ralph, although unexpected, was probably inevitable. Fortunately Ralph exercised considerably more sway in the church Alan came to than the one Alan eventually fashioned. Ralph’s star gradually faded as Alan’s ascended. But Alan couldn’t initially foresee that.

In the midst of his distress, Alan took some missteps. “I became impatient,” he recalls. “I forced almost immediate changes. I later counted thirty-one in the first year alone-big things like raising the budget and proposing new staff. Somehow we survived, but the changes came more from my ego needs than church needs. Since I had made a mistake in coming, I felt I had to make the shoe fit me- and fast-just to survive.”

One fellow stomped into Alan’s office and said, “You’ve stolen our church!”

“Whose church?”

“Our church,” he replied.

“Yours?” asked Alan. “Who owns it?”

“Those of us who started it,” he grumped.

Alan’s counter, “We’re Christ’s church,” rang a little empty with all his maneuvering.

Such was the resistance he encountered with the charter members. Only Alan’s pulpit effectiveness and his credentials from many years of pastoral experience covered for his overzealousness to shape up the church.

Alan began recovering from his mistake in pain’s forced self-examination. What am I in this thing for? Is it pleasure? Recognition? Maybe I was spoiled in Auburn. Titus was surrounded by liars and gluttons; maybe this is my Island of Crete. Who am I to say there’s not some reason for my going through this?

He also took refuge in his marriage. Sue shared the trauma over Nikki and much of the shock of going from a loving, affirming congregation to a more standoffish group. Together they endured what they called a major change in temperature from a warm shower to cold.

Eventually the cold shower warmed. Alan’s humor and warmth lodged in the congregation and started reflecting back on him and his family. People reached out individually. “We started getting dinner invitations,” Alan remembers. “Then we heard that nearly one hundred had gathered in a home to pray for us and communicate support when rumor had it we were unsettled.”

People broke through the cold barriers Alan originally felt. “They gave encouragement enough that I could take the next step until finally I could start walking again” is how Alan put it. That second wind kept him from gasping for oxygen elsewhere.

One of Alan’s heroes, a retired saint, buoyed him. “Alan,” he said, “there isn’t one church reaching Seattle like you can.” To Alan that was like saying “Sic ’em” to a dog. It gave him a challenge; it helped him look outside himself. Perhaps it came from pride, but it rekindled Alan’s vision.

Later, visitors from his Auburn parish told him, “Now we see why God led you here. Though we miss you, we realize this is a place where you can really minister.” They perceived what Alan, in his struggle, was missing: his “mistake” was not without redeeming factors. Their encouragement added a page of affirmation to a narrow volume.

Probably the pew-to-pulpit communication accomplished the greatest remedial work. “Every preacher receives communication from the pew while he preaches, both good and bad,” Alan observes. “The pew was my sustaining grace. I was saved by the timely comfort telegraphed by people inspired by God.” In doing the work of the ministry, Alan began to receive the rewards, even when interspersed with brickbats from other quarters.

No dramatic turns catapulted the Taylors into bliss. For many months they lived day to day with the dreary results of a decision that for all the world sure felt like a mistake. With an occasional tactical victory in Session, with a rising incidence of pleasant encounters with parishioners, with a rare period of sunshine in Nikki’s struggle, with the belief that God intends to mend mistakes, but mostly with dogged determination not to stumble recklessly into another blunder, Alan, Sue, and even Nikki weathered the move to Seattle.

Three years later, with the church once again a sound vessel on a new course, Alan breathes a sigh of relief, cautiously thankful he didn’t jump ship in the rough waters.

Tips for Survival

Did Alan make a mistake going to Broadmore? For agonizing months it had all the symptoms of a colossal mistake. But is something a mistake that begins like a mistake, develops like a mistake, and feels like a mistake, even when it doesn’t end a mistake? Perhaps God’s very ability to redeem our blunders colors the picture in hindsight.

The fact remains: Every pastor errs; the disease is endemic. So what can we do when blunders overtake us, whether they be the mild variety that tangle us or the massive sort that trigger the “I’ve really blown it now!” response? Alan’s experience offers some clues.

Proceed cautiously. The statement “Nothing can be judged the day it happens” helped Alan avoid making a final decision on momentary evidence. As he put it, “You can’t judge the whole parade from what you see through a knothole.”

Mistakes breed panic. Three months after coming to Seattle, Alan wanted to abandon the ministry. Had he acted impulsively, he might well have piled one mistake on another.

Before the denouement, however, Alan figured he had torpedoed his ministry. To this point he had done so well. Yet here he was in Seattle-miserable, worried sick about his daughter, angry at Ralph’s flimflam tactics, and remembering how grand life had been in Auburn. Alan’s mistake pained him-continually-yet it caused him to take stock before he took action.

“Pastors make their share of mistakes in choosing places to serve,” Alan believes. “We think we want to live in a certain community, be near our families, have access to varied opportunities-things that may not be the Lord’s priorities. When we use the wrong criteria for making our decisions, the basis for the decision is suspect. Then, no matter how we massage the information, our conclusions will be shaky.

“I thought getting Nikki out of Auburn would be good for her. I thought a new challenge would stimulate me. I was wrong. I had used the wrong criteria to force a move. Maybe I was trying to make God’s plan fit my expectations. Yet, I believe if I am sincere despite the emotional trauma I am under, if I am following the light as best I know how, even if I make a mistake, God will rescue me. And I’ll grow through it.

“That’s exactly what happened in Seattle. After three years, the church is still not completely what I expected, and Ralph is still not on my side. But he’s coming around. After playing left field without a mitt for three years, maybe he’s beginning to understand the rest of the team has gone with the coach.”

Shutting down the decision-making process for a brief moratorium makes good sense. This is not ceasing to function. Analysis abounds. After making a mistake, most pastors know what they feel- wretched. They must decide what they know. Information gathering, exploring the options is in order. Alan learned to take a day at a time while he sorted through the rubble. Had he thought less and emoted more, he probably wouldn’t have the effective ministry he enjoys today.

Many a resignation has been prematurely proffered, many a dream abandoned, many a blunder compounded from incautious attempts to quickly fix a mistake. A seasoned, broader perspective realizes that today’s mistake may not seem so tomorrow. Alan advises, “Give it time. I had to learn to wait on the Lord, to not make a hasty judgment.”

Regroup around the basics. After an inglorious belly-flop, the next dive is not the time to introduce a new twist. The diver needs to reconfirm her ability to enter the water safely and gracefully with a well-executed, familiar dive.

“If your team gets in trouble,” Alan advises, “you go back to fundamentals. If you lose your perspective, return to what you know.” Alan found therapeutic satisfaction in people business-trying to preach his best sermons, visiting people, counseling. It would have been ill-advised to launch a TV ministry, or even a second worship service.

A mistake shakes the confidence of both pastor and parish. The pastor has fallen off the bicycle. He must get back on and ride it sanely; no more standing on the seat, just basic, safe transportation. New, small victories have a way of bolstering the pastor’s confidence and regaining the congregation’s approval. Concentrating on the bedrock of ministry rebuilds a shaken foundation.

Pastoral care mends fences. Following many mistakes, the people especially need to know they are loved. Perhaps they have been disappointed, stung, angered. The personal touch of their pastor smoothes many ruffled feathers. Caring for others may be the last thing the pastor wants to face, yet it is necessary and carries rewards few anticipate.

Many parishioners wait for a reason to again affirm a pastor. Given that reason, they surprise their pastor with warmth, care, and genuine forgiveness. One shocked pastor said, “He’s a right-wing, knee-jerk, ultraconservative. He had every reason to condemn me after what I did. Yet he tells me, ‘I know how you helped me as my pastor, and you will be my friend until the day I die.’ Who could expect it?” Centering on pastoral basics paid great dividends.

Seek trusted counsel. The fog gets thick at times, and to pierce it sometimes requires others’ radar. Alan’s thoughts had wandered from flight to fight. He needed help sorting them out.

Alan could have used counsel even before his error. He warns: “I should have done some personal investigating outside the church committee. A probing list of questions for neighboring pastors or denominational staff could have spared me from being blindsided at that first Session meeting.

“I knew the type of leadership I had to offer. Even cursory checking could have tipped me off about mismatched expectations. I’m an open person. When I talked with the committee in California, I let them know my philosophy of ministry. I said, ‘I was called to preach. I consider my study time, prayer time, and periods for reflection a major priority. And that calls me to be limited on other things.’ I just assumed they knew who they were and what they needed. I expected them to be capable of making a good match. I assumed wrong.

“I followed a weak preacher. He was a hobnobber-five minutes here, coffee with this family, a visit there. The people criticized his preaching, but they liked drinking coffee with him. These same folks praised my preaching, but they still wanted me for coffee! I should have known enough to expect that. I got more surprises in my first three months at Broadmore than in years of prior ministry.”

But Alan’s mistake made him wiser. Ma Bell smiled at the number of calls he made from Seattle to trusted friends in ministry. He chose those outside his locale who could give him unbiased feedback. Their listening, probing, and praying with him added perspective. They affirmed his call and gifts, or called his bluff as the need arose. He especially appreciated those who didn’t totally agree with him. He needed penetrating-even blunt-counsel, not just sympathy.

By submitting his feelings to a corrective community, Alan received the wise counsel his shell-shocked psyche could not provide. His revered role model challenged him. Another friend helped Alan “buy space” by suggesting a short-term ministry at Broadmore might be God’s intention. It made the immediate miasma more bearable by giving it limited dimensions. Alan believed he could tolerate a year or two.

“Where’s my blind spot?” is the question he asked. “What am I failing to comprehend?” Some pastors find they shouldn’t own the problem; they’re not the cause. Others discover a particular weakness sets them up for repeated trouble. They need to attend to the cause prior to fixing the symptoms. For others, perhaps a solution exists, one they hadn’t considered. Trusted advisors pull a pastor through pea-soup fog.

Alan is happy now-challenged, successful, satisfied-without having abandoned Broadmore Presbyterian. He wouldn’t choose to go through the wringer again, nor would he recommend subjecting a troubled teen to Nikki’s ordeal. Yet the God who reconciled Paul and Barnabas, who redeemed the libertine Augustine, who recommissioned the failed missionary John Wesley, who recovered conspirator Charles Colson-that God habitually uses even our mistakes for his purposes.

Mistakes are as inevitable as the wrinkles of age and fill most ministries with hilarious anecdotes and serious consequences. The ability to live through them gracefully and grow from them profitably separates the productive survivors from the maimed victims.

Jim Berkley is associate editor of LEADERSHIP.

DON’T DO ANYTHING STUPID

I served on a church staff with my father for three years before relinquishing the security. My father, who still thinks like the accountant for TWA he once was, had thoroughly instructed me in organization, but his leadership had shielded me from church politics.

Leaving my father’s well-oiled system to pastor a small church was threatening, to say the least. So, in my last month as Dad’s associate, I made a lunch appointment to milk his wisdom on church politics. As we unwrapped our hamburgers, I said, “Tell me how to be a successful pastor.”

He took a bite, chewed a moment, and just before again sinking his teeth into the hamburger replied, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

That seemed to settle it in his mind, but I wondered if he was insinuating something about me. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he said, “you know Jack Penbrook? He’s not that great at preaching, but he’ll always be a successful pastor. He doesn’t do stupid things. He never reacts immediately.

“Whenever a problem comes up that you think requires immediate action, ask yourself this question: ‘If a friend of mine were getting ready to do what I’m thinking of doing, would I advise him against it?’ If the answer is yes, sit down and do nothing. If you can’t do anything to help a situation, for goodness sake, don’t do anything to hurt it!”

Later I found biblical confirmation of Dad’s advice in Proverbs 19:11-“The discretion of a man deferreth his anger; and it is his glory to pass over a transgression.”

Dad turned his attention to his hamburger, and that was about all I got out of him. But it was well worth the cost of lunch.

My church was two and a half years old when I became its first full-time pastor. It was a family church-it met in a deacon’s basement the first ten months-so everyone knew everyone else. My wife and I were the first new members to be received in a year. I knew enough to watch for unspoken traditions and procedures in such a congregation.

Six months after I came, a cold snap arrived on a December Sunday morning and froze everything in sight. From the church door I watched cars limp into the parking lot. The deacons and I met for prayer before worship, and one of them said, “We think it’s going to be too cold to get out tonight; we’d better cancel the evening service.”

Well, I had always lived next door to the church, and my dad never canceled services! A lot of smart replies jumped to my mind. All would have been gratifying to express-and equally stupid. I must have looked like Stan Laurel as I smiled and nodded. The deacons decided to circulate after the service to informally pass the word about the cancellation, and we headed into the service.

I didn’t stand during the first song nor pay any attention to the announcements. I looked out over the congregation and thought, Well, this is it. I can’t go along with their decision. I wonder if I can find a job in a grocery store that doesn’t sell liquor. Then my eyes settled on my little son, seated in the pew beside his mother, and God employed my father’s voice.

What would you do if your son acted like this? You’d tell him to grow up, right? Don’t do anything stupid, son; you have a tantrum over something little like this, and you’ll deserve to lose their respect. Besides, the deacons know these people better than you do. They might be trying to spare you from preaching to an empty church.

Even in my imagination, Dad is something of a pain.

I stood up and sang as loud as I could on the second song. And I preached on “The Assurance of Christmas.” Lo and behold, a man gave his life to Christ that morning! My stupidity could have cost a soul, but discretion deferred anger, and the morning was salvaged.

By the end of the service, a thaw changed the deacons’ minds. We held our service that evening, and one young preacher learned his father’s lesson.

Oh, by the way, a few months ago Dad dropped by my house. When he was about to leave, I asked, “Hey, what do you hear from Jack Penbrook?”

“He just resigned his church.”

“Really? I thought things were going well for him. What happened?”

“Aw,” Dad said, shaking his head in disgust, “he did something stupid.”

-Greg McAllister

New Life Free Will Baptist Church

O’Fallon, Missouri

Copyright © 1986 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

CAN SPIRITUAL VITALITY BE ENGINEERED?

Marshall Shelley and Jim Berkley

Forum

Every pastor wants to encourage Christian maturity. That's why we teach classes, preach sermons, form covenant groups, and copy off reams of discipleship materials. But in the process of weaning believers from milk and developing spiritual carnivores, sometimes pastors wonder: Am I doing any good? Is anybody growing as a Christian? Should I do more? How much of me does the Spirit need to accomplish the job?

Recently "The Chapel of the Air," a radio ministry led by David Mains, produced materials for "Fifty Days to Welcome Christ to Our Church." Combining personal disciplines-Scripture reading and memorization, prayer, performing secret acts of kindness, and tackling destructive habits-with joint preparation and unified themes for Sunday worship, this concentrated effort sought to strengthen the spiritual pulse of congregations.

LEADERSHIP editors Marshall Shelley and Jim Berkley invited pastors from four pilot congregations that had recently completed the "Fifty Days" to reflect on their experiences and the larger question: Can spiritual vitality be engineered? The pastors:

-Carl Abrahamsen, Jr., of Calvary Church in West Hartford, Connecticut.

-William Bliese, just retiring as pastor of Emmanuel Evangelical Lutheran Church in Dayton, Ohio, to enter a church consulting ministry.

-Roger Thompson of Trinity Baptist Church in the Denver suburb of Wheat Ridge, Colorado.

-Kent Hughes of College Church in Wheaton, Illinois.

Leadership: As you prepared for this spiritual emphasis, what were you looking for? Realistically, what did you expect to happen?

Carl Abrahamsen: I liked the idea of a unified focus. I saw the opportunity, for instance, to coordinate personal devotions with morning worship.

One Sunday night after church, a worshiper said, "Pastor, I really appreciated the message this morning."

Kiddingly I said, "Well what about tonight's sermon?"

She looked at me seriously and sighed, "I can only deal with one sermon a day." She needed a single thrust rather than a number of messages on one Sunday. This program gave us a natural way to concentrate our focus.

Kent Hughes: At our church we often say, "We ought to believe what we believe." The things we emphasized during this time were things we all believe, but there was a sense of finally believing them. My goal simply was to be used by the Lord to heighten the sense of Christ's presence. We give intellectual assent to it, but if we really experience his presence, then renewal will happen.

Leadership: Did you have any fears going in?

Hughes: One of mine was that a spiritual emphasis can be misconstrued. If you say, "We're going to spend fifty days welcoming Christ to our church," some people could imply he wasn't there before.

I tried to prevent that by pointing out, as Augustine said, "Where Christ, there the church." I said, "Christ has always been here, but we're taking some time to celebrate his perpetual presence."

Focusing your energy on a subject says to the people that it is indeed important. Every church has its own rhythm and seasons, and an emphasis on spiritual vitality is needed at various times.

Roger Thompson: It's like an accent color woven into the fabric of our church.

Leadership: What elements of the program proved most effective?

Thompson: Different people responded to different disciplines. For some it was performing the secret acts of kindness, for others it was conquering a self-destructive pattern, and for many it was memorizing Scripture. I tried to affirm whatever God used in their lives.

William Bliese: We, too, found it varied with each individual. For some it was daily reading of the Scriptures-something they knew they should be doing but had never really practiced as a daily discipline.

For others, Sunday morning worship came alive. We did the normal things we had always done, but there was a vitality, a life, an observable enthusiasm that came through. You could hear it in the singing and a variety of ways.

The highlight for me, however, was delegating the whole process to a committee and watching the results. They struggled with understanding what this emphasis was about and how to implement it. And they did a superb job. Almost invariably, the things lay people get excited about are the most successful. I figured the best thing I could do was not kill it!

We had such a good experience, the committee has continued the process, even writing their own materials for the next fifty days.

Leadership: What were some of the observable results you noticed?

Hughes: I noticed people coming to church early and sitting quietly in prayer. They came with a focused expectancy. They knew what to look for when they came. That's wonderfully encouraging for a pastor.

Thompson: I don't consider it coincidental that several new ministries have started. They weren't a result of our pushing or trying to leverage this tool to make things happen. They arose from newly invigorated people.

Leadership: After having such largely positive experiences, would you say spiritual vitality can be engineered?

Thompson: Yes-if we view engineering as research and development and not manufacturing. You can't manufacture a spiritual experience, but you can take materials and stress them, put together prototypes and see if they fly, and find the best design so the most people can benefit. I like the idea of putting things through the paces. Engineers call it "eustress"-good stress-testing various components. At times our church family needs this kind of special stress. And spiritual vitality can result.

Abrahamsen: I prefer to view it as creating an environment rather than engineering a product. We try to create an environment where people believe God means what he says and will act if they respond to him.

At one church we planned a conference amid fears the preacher would be speaking to an empty house. But we had good attendance throughout the week. One woman was going through a difficult time spiritually, but God met her at that conference and made things different. That woman later influenced countless people. We had created a new atmosphere, purposefully, and it touched her.

Leadership: To play "Spirit's Advocate"-without pastoral prodding and planning, isn't the Spirit perfectly capable of developing Christian maturity?

Hughes: It's true that a church can function like a well-oiled machine-with all its pastors, programs, and people in place-and the Holy Spirit might be absent. The machine can run on its own momentum. But that's an extreme. That shouldn't keep us from trying to engineer spiritual vitality under the leadership of the Holy Spirit.

A Billy Graham Crusade is the ultimate in "engineering." The sermon is a product of homiletical planning, done, we assume, under the direction of the Holy Spirit. The evening's program is engineered down to the final hymn. You would skew the whole thing by singing "Shall We Gather at the River" instead of "Just As I Am."

Not that I want to enshrine pragmatism. If Buddhists used church growth principles and grew, you couldn't call that the result of the Holy Spirit. But on the other side, a faithful steward is going to do things God's way under the leadership of the Holy Spirit, and that is going to require planning-sensitive engineering, if you will.

Bliese: To give the other side of the coin, I'll say spiritual vitality cannot be engineered. Certainly I don't want to downplay careful planning. But that, to me, is not engineering. Let me offer a personal illustration.

I was called to my last pastorate because I was "the experienced pastor," successful in previous ministries. They said I needed a bigger challenge, so I went and spent four miserable years trying to engineer new life into a church we all knew was dead. I did everything I knew, and nothing worked. Finally it became a personal crisis. When some suggested I leave, I told my family, "I'm a failure. I don't know how to minister anymore."

But I did know I still believed in Jesus my Savior. I decided not to do another thing to program the church until the Lord showed me what to do. And from that moment on, things began to develop. A year later a man told me, "The last time I was here this was the deadest church I'd ever been in. Now the whole church has come alive. What happened?" I didn't engineer anything, so I have a lot of difficulty saying it can be engineered.

Everything I had done previously in that church was good. Only one thing was missing: God wasn't in it. That is the necessary intangible of any engineering we attempt.

Thompson: Howard Snyder said that any church that has Christ in it has life, and one of the keys to leadership is just getting out of the way.

Leadership: How do you get out of the way to let the Spirit work?

Thompson: Other than offering my resignation? (Laughter) I have to remember that I am not Christ. I'm only his servant, and maybe a poor one at that. So everything I take in is filtered through my unique experience and limited maturity. I'm trying to learn the balance between being a leader who says "Troops, march this direction!" versus saying "What do you guys think? How do you size up the battle?"

I'm tending toward the second response. I guess I'm responding to the idea that churches are organisms; they are alive. I need to be careful not to overmanage that life or remake the church into my image.

Leadership: You're saying a spiritually mature church will reflect not just Roger Thompson's brand of spiritual maturity?

Thompson: Right. Certainly I have things to teach and to model, but I don't have it all. I know, because I have people around me who evidence tremendous depth in areas I haven't even thought about.

Abrahamsen: I thought the title of John Stott's book on preaching was fascinating: Between Two Worlds. He pictures the preacher between the world of sense, where all the information coming to us is sense oriented, and the world of the Spirit, where there is possibly no sense of verification.

We stand between those two worlds; that's the human element of it. The world of senses is so dominant it can easily bury the world of the Spirit. Jesus said, "According to your faith be it unto you." In leading our churches, we have to respond to what God has said and promised.

Leadership: How much church programming is necessary to bring about spiritual growth?

Hughes: I saw great things happen in the sixties and seventies in Southern California without programs. All the major churches had youth programs, youth pastors, and so on, but then came the great outpouring of the Holy Spirit called the Jesus Movement. Without much more than a worshipful service and preaching of the Word, thousands of young people were saved.

There's a sense in which God's sovereignty will have its moment, and all kinds of people will come to him. And yet, that's not to say there shouldn't be caring Christian education and great thought given to the input we're giving our young people. It happens both ways.

To me it's a sublime paradox. Even with all our great work, God sometimes does things in ways we would never expect.

Leadership: Yes, God moves in mysterious ways, but where does pastoral initiative fit in-"taking the bull by the tail and facing the situation," as W. C. Fields put it? If anything is going to get done, sometimes it seems the pastor has to do it.

Thompson: I see myself as a guardian of the motives of renewal. I'm constantly pressing the congregation for the right thirsts, for spending time alone with the Lord, communing in the Word, doing acts of kindness.

What I'm after as a shepherd is to be the values merchant, making sure we encourage the right motives and values. Now if that's my job, I can't get up there and scratch and mumble when God wants something to happen with his people. But on the other hand, I can't be the soap salesman who builds his pyramid and says, "I guarantee this church is going to grow by 15 percent this year!"

Leadership: Let's say you're in a church that's not a particularly shining example, and you want to build the spiritual maturity. Do you start by trying to get the people to do personal devotions to prepare for worship? Or do you start with the worship experience to influence their personal disciplines? Where do you begin?

Hughes: Both are important, but you've got everybody together for corporate worship, so that's an opportunity to teach attitudes about the priority of worship. I would put a great deal of emphasis upon the corporate worship experience. But at the same time, I would emphasize proper prayer and use sermons and illustrations about the necessity of personal devotion. As pastors, we have such vast control over the feeling of worship-the reverence, the language we use in reference to God, even the way we carry ourselves.

You can teach people corporately what to do individually.

Leadership: What happens on Sunday morning carries over into the individual devotional life.

Hughes: Exactly. I don't want Sunday morning to be my performance, but it's important that I talk with God in the most intimate, passionate terms, because my people learn in church how to relate to God.

That's why before worship our staff prays for God to help our own hearts worship. It's easy to just go through the motions by the second service. But when one pastor is leading, the others can't be laid back. We sit up straight and let our body language say we are intent on worship.

Bliese: I asked our people, "What sparks spiritual vitality?" I thought they'd say a rousing hymn or something else, but they all said the sermon. Feeding their internal needs seems most important.

As clergy, we would probably say it's most important to exalt the nature of God. I think that's part of our challenge: to somehow lead the people to see that priority.

Abrahamsen: How do we develop faith? Paul says, "Faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God." Faith is caught. That's the corporate worship part. But faith is also acting on the will of God, and that's the personal part, getting into the Word ourselves. One without the other isn't any good.

Thompson: There's symbiosis between personal and corporate worship, but if you press me, corporate worship would be the starting place.

My wife is training our young daughters to thank people with a complete sentence-"Thank you for the delicious dessert" instead of just "Thank you." The training helps them think about what they're thankful for. The same happens in worship. Some people need examples of how to pray or how to worship, how to focus upward.

And then, practically speaking, how can you lose, starting with corporate worship? The one who is proficient at worship will have a chance to express it. The uninitiated will get a chance to witness it.

Leadership: What are the limitations of corporate worship in building people's spirituality?

Hughes: In whatever style of worship service, from Quaker to Episcopalian, people can learn all the outward affectations and just do them without any heart.

Thompson: Motives play a big role in corporate worship. People who come ready to worship can be manipulated by a leader who knows how to play to the crowd. On the other hand, people can come with cynicism and misread good motives in, say, a sincere musician. They could say, "He's just performing."

Abrahamsen: After one worship service, I heard from two people in succession, and I'm glad they came close together since either comment alone would have wiped me out. One person said, "You know, when I talk to you one on one it's great. But when you're in that pulpit, it's horrible." The other person said, "I enjoy hearing you preach. You're better than you are in private conversation." I began to think about the different modes of communication.

I once said something in a service about abortion. I thought I had clarified my position and protected myself from misunderstanding, but a woman hit me at the door with the accusation, "You offended me!" When she told me how, I said, "You weren't listening, because that's not what I was saying." In communicating what might be termed technicalities, I think a minister can be better one on one, where you can get feedback. Principles can be effectively communicated corporately.

Leadership: How do you prepare yourself for worship? What expectations can you bring to a service?

Hughes: What's inside us may affect the service more than anything else. The biggest thing we bring to Sunday morning is an expectancy mated to preparedness that says, "God, you have used this week and I'm ready-I think. I'm going to launch this service; you make it fly. Let's see what happens together."

Abrahamsen: Ian MacPherson once wrote that when a preacher comes out to preach, he should enter with all the trumpets blowing and all the flags flying. In an artistic way, that expresses what we have to do.

One Easter Sunday I got up early and somebody in our house played Keith Green's rousing rendition of "Easter Song." It was a great experience. I began to think that maybe the preacher is like a football team that needs to be psyched up before the game. Maybe they should lock us in a room and play music like that to get the flags flying and the trumpets blowing!

Thompson: Anybody who does something with real craftsmanship exhibits a sense of freedom. They enjoy what they're doing, and we enjoy them doing it. Pinchas Zukerman, the great violinist, was asked "Why do you still practice so many hours?"

He said, "I put in the discipline so that in the concert I have freedom." That's what the pastor does.

I want preparedness to be such a part of my soul that I'm not self-consciously thinking of the mechanics of worship. That greatly enhances worship.

Leadership: How does your devotional life throughout the week affect the worship services you lead?

Hughes: It appears in your ethos-who you are in relationship to the Word.

We've all been in a service where the doctrine is orthodox and the person is saying good things, but it doesn't have the ring of truth or reality. The ethos is wrong. That probably gets back to the preacher's devotional life or relationship with his wife.

Your spiritual preparation and your personal life stand behind your preaching and all that happens in corporate worship. When logos-the message-and ethos come together, you've really got something.

Abrahamsen: The Spirit is sometimes very explicit with me. I was really frustrated in one church. In my study before church one Sunday, I was seething inside, and I had been for a week. But the Spirit of God caught me up short just as I was ready to go into worship in a rotten mood. Why are you going out there like that? The people who have come to worship know nothing of your frustration. I surrendered it right there two feet from the platform. When the Holy Spirit works in explicit ways, we need to respond.

Thompson: Our own personal lives are sometimes the hardest things to balance. Right now I feel tension between being one who initiates a lot of action-an executive who gets things done-and then trying to be the contemplative, passive one. For example, I can't write anything unless I have some time to sit and think, to read and be alone.

I don't see any way out of that. I can't just contemplate my way through the staff meeting, nor can I ramrod my way through devotional times. The tension of contemplation versus action plays out every week, but it's a good tension.

Bliese: When things weren't going well with a previous congregation, I realized I had gotten to a low spiritual level. I found there are limits to how much I can minister to myself spiritually. But I discovered somewhat by accident the value of other people ministering to me when I came to my present parish and started attending a group where I didn't have to do a thing; I could just sit and soak it in. Oh, what a blessing that was!

One night someone said, "Pastor, you've had a lot of stress. Why don't we lay hands on you and pray for you." I deferred, saying something about somebody else having more problems than me and suggesting they pray for him. And immediately the Lord seemed to say, You dope!-I don't know if the Lord uses that kind of language, but it's the way it came through to me-Get off your pride. I sat down and had one of the greatest experiences in my life as they prayed for me.

Thompson: Looking back, I realize that some Christians have ministered to me whose spiritual depth at that point was almost nil. But their hearts were right and they really ministered. There's a subtle pride that says, "Well, about the only guy that can minister to me now is probably Chuck Swindoll or a prophet from God," but just about anybody can minister to us if we're open to it.

Leadership: Who was it who spoke to Balaam? (Laughter)

Thompson: We begin to feel it takes someone who has achieved the level of our preparedness to minister to us, when sometimes our children can do it.

Leadership: What are the pinch points for you as pastors caught between the world of structure and the world of the unpredictable Spirit? Where do you have to make the tough judgment calls?

Bliese: We had nine boards with staff people assigned to each. Periodically a board would come to me and say, "Pastor, we've been talking about this, but you're the senior pastor, what would you like?" I had to consciously resist pontificating. I'd turn the question on them: "What do you think?" We're trying to develop lay leadership. I believe God works through the whole body of Christ, and it isn't contingent on me.

Discovering the lordship of Jesus was vital for my own personal renewal. But to extend that to the church was next. It's hard, because there tend to be dominant leaders-even ourselves-who by the sheer brunt of their personal leadership move the church in their direction, even if it short circuits what the Lord wants to do. I want to avoid that. I want people to follow Christ, not dominant leaders-myself included.

Abrahamsen: As the church grows the dynamics change; the larger the church, the more it depends on a strong natural leader. I don't think following a strong natural leader is necessarily sinful. I went to a church of 350 from a smaller church I had grown with, and found they expected a whole different leadership style. They wanted a strong leader.

I think leadership style is neutral. One way isn't right and the other wrong, but the strong natural leader style has more danger to it. In a large church, however, if you keep pushing off responsibility to the lay people, you're liable to stagnate.

Thompson: I've felt a pinch point: using guilt to motivate. I find it inimical to say to people, "Here is the loving God we worship . . . and he will judge you wretches if you don't come to prayer meeting!" At the one point you're inviting them to worship God in freedom and truth, and at the other you make them feel guilty, needing some self-atoning performance so God will love them. It's a theological dichotomy and an emotional quagmire. I know there are people in my church who would run through a wall for me if I made them feel guilty!

I won't finagle my way to "success" by laying guilt trips on my congregation. Guilt-induced people never last. They either go to a new church where new guilt can be tapped or they'll leave the church entirely. Eventually they'll be burned out.

Abrahamsen: I discovered as a young pastor that people were much more aware of their sinfulness than they were of the goodness, mercy, love of God.

Thompson: I'm not even talking about sinfulness. I'm talking about guilt over not coming to every church function, not being a part of some program I'm pushing. I'm talking about human domination, not a Holy Spirit conviction of sin, which must be confessed, repented of, and put behind us.

Leadership: How do you allow for the almost capricious work of the Spirit in building up others-the Spirit who sometimes blesses your worst sermons?

Thompson: We always pray, "Lord, let something happen that's not in the bulletin." (Laughter)

Bliese: Allowing the Spirit to work has been our real struggle. We once were a very structured, traditional Lutheran church, but we had a group who wanted to add spontaneity. We still struggle to allow those who want to clap to clap, and to say it's OK for the rest who don't want to clap; to allow some to raise their hands but leave the others free not to.

I remember the first time somebody in our service raised her hands in prayer. Somebody brought it up in our next meeting, and we wrestled with the precedent it would set for other types of spontaneous expressions. They decided not to condemn it or encourage it. They simply said nothing and allowed the people to express themselves however they preferred.

Leadership: Did that lack of clear direction lead to tension?

Bliese: Certainly we've had tension, but we think the best way to handle that is for people to talk to one another. We meet periodically to express why we're doing what we're doing. It defuses the misconceptions, like the thought that applause after the anthem was for the choir. One person explained, "I wasn't applauding the choir; I was blessed by God, so I praised him by clapping!"

Abrahamsen: An unusual thing happened at the conclusion of one sermon I preached. A young man-a brand new Christian-began applauding. I mean he really applauded, and nobody joined him. People didn't know how to deal with it. I was kind of shocked myself. Here was a spontaneous action by a simple believer; he was just celebrating the greatness of God. The only response I could come up with was to say thank you.

He hasn't applauded since. I think the congregation responded in such a way that nobody would dare applaud after that. But that man is now an elder.

Leadership: And now he'd probably frown at somebody who would applaud today! (Laughter)

Abrahamsen: Actually we did come up with a policy on applauding. Talk about structuring spiritual responses-it became the responsibility of the chairman of a particular meeting to declare whether or not people could applaud. We would allow an "Amen" any time, but you had to get the chairman's approval to applaud!

Bliese: I remember one fellow in our church who, right after becoming a father, felt tremendously blessed. While walking back to his seat from communion in one service, he spontaneously jumped up in the air and clicked his heels. The church erupted.

It challenged people to rethink how much of what they were doing was just a programmed response and how much was genuine worship.

Copyright © 1986 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

WHY I’M A MINISTER

Norman Vincent Peale

The most compelling reason to serve God is personally having seen him at work.

Condensed from The True Joy of Positive Living. Copyright 1984 by Norman Vincent Peale. Reprinted by arrangement with William Morrow & Co., Inc.

Prominent, and sometimes controversial, Norman Vincent Peale recalls in his autobiography the influences that led him into the pastorate-the model of his pastor father, his early encounters with God’s life-changing grace, and his own early attempts to share his faith. This is one man’s story of how God directed him into ministry.

Many people were surprised when I ended up a preacher, although I was not what might be called a bad kid. In the small Ohio towns of the early 1900s, a preacher’s kid was considered “different” and made to feel so.

But several influences conspired to make a minister out of an unlikely prospect for that profession. One was Father’s preaching. The way he described Jesus Christ gave me, early in life, a profound admiration and enthusiasm for the Master. He had an incomparable way of making Christianity real and exciting.

In one Ohio town we lived in, every Monday morning my father would go to the bank and the president would give him his salary check for the week. The banker would expect him to deposit the check forthwith in his bank. As he handed the check to Father, he would always ask, “Now, Brother Peale, do you think your sermon yesterday justifies this check?”

This riled me no end, for I usually accompanied Dad on this Monday morning ritual. But Father was urbane and responded in kind to this so-called witticism. It amazed me that my father and the banker were friends.

The banker lived in a big house down Main Street. It was set back, regally, among old trees, and a curving drive swept up to the door. Every morning a driver would take him in a spanking, shiny carriage, drawn by two beautiful black horses, down to the bank and back for lunch, and down and back in the afternoon. All as if he were some Roman conqueror; or at least that is how I resentfully thought of it. Who was this big shot to whom the servant of Almighty God had to come like a supplicant?

But Father said, “One needs to know all about an individual, or at least all you can know, before a proper judgment may be formed. Now take this banker. He is the son of a poor farmer, a father who could never make a go of his few rocky acres. The family was poorer than we are. That boy came into town one day years ago and went up and down the street looking for a job, any kind of job. Finally he was hired by this bank as a janitor. He swept out, washed the windows, dusted the desks, ran errands, cleaned the toilet, and he did each lowly chore with cheerfulness and to the best of his ability. Years came and went, and finally he became bank president.

“He married a lovely girl and they lived together in happiness for twenty-five years or more. Then early one morning that team of horses and carriage you resent came to me and carried me to his big house where, for all his wealth and position, his lovely wife could not be saved. I was there when she died and sat with him in his grief. ‘I’ll never forget you and what you have done by being with me in the worst hour of my life,’ he said, gripping my hand at the door.

“He has never spoken of it again, but it is his nature to conceal his feelings. But, you see, I know him and in his own way he loves me as one of his closest friends. So don’t mind that we carry on that little ritual every Monday morning. It’s just a way men have of showing the affection they have for each other.”

Thereafter I saw the bank president as a man, rather than as a banker, which was what Father intended, I’m sure. And for this man I began to have compassion. Apparently it reached him because the last time I saw him, he put his arm around my shoulder and said, “Norman, you have a fine man for a father. Take good care of him always.” So saying, he went back to his desk and waved me off. He had said all that he could. When some years later I heard of his death, I was saddened, but knew that a good man with clean hands had gone home to his Lord. To love people compassionately and to see the good in every man and woman was what my father taught his children by precept and example.

I was born on May 31, 1898, in Bowersville, Greene County, Ohio, a charming village of some three hundred people. My father, Charles Clifford Peale, pastor of the local Methodist church, had been trained as a physician and had practiced medicine in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. He was the health commissioner in Milwaukee when he became very ill. His mother despaired of his life, and being intensely religious, she “promised the Lord” that if her son, Cliffy, was spared, she would endeavor to persuade him to abandon his medical career and become a preacher of the Gospel.

His return to health seemed a direct answer to prayer, and Clifford Peale, while in no way unduly subject to maternal domination, felt the influence of Providence and became convinced that his recovery did indicate that he was intended, by the Lord, to devote himself to full-time Christian service as a minister.

At Bowersville my father was pastor of what was then called a “circuit”-three little churches scattered over an area of perhaps ten square miles. He would preach at one church on Sunday morning; at another, Sunday afternoon; and at the end of the Sabbath day he was in the third. From each church he might return home with a bushel of apples, a bag of potatoes, a basket of vegetables, sometimes a loaf or two of home-baked bread (I can almost smell its fragrance even now).

He had to collect his own pay. I recall going with him once to a big brick farmhouse where the farmer gave him two round silver dollars. “That’s all you’ve got coming to you, Reverend,” explained the parishioner. “Due to the bad weather I’ve only been to church two times this winter.” To which Father, who could always see humor in life, said, “Well, I’m glad to know my sermons are increasing in value . . . last time you only gave me fifty cents per sermon.”

Then there is the lifetime memory of that Sunday night in winter when Father was holding the annual series of revival meetings in a little church in southern Ohio. In those days the two weeks of revival, with meetings every night, was the big event of the year in the country round about. There were no movies, no radio, no television to compete. The church had preeminence. It was not only the spiritual center but the entertainment center, the gathering place. And since Father was a powerful speaker, the church was always filled, and for the revival meetings it was standing room only.

In the little village was a man, Dave Henderson, a nice enough fellow when he was sober. But when drunk, he was by common consent “a holy terror.” Dave was a big man with hands like hams and fists having the driving power of pistons, so said those who had felt their impact in fights. Ordinarily genial, with liquor in him Dave would pick a fight at the slightest provocation. He also had the reputation of being the champion local cusser, and was quite foulmouthed. Some said he was a wife beater, but his dignified and cultured wife would never admit to anything of the sort.

Curiously Dave was a fairly regular churchgoer, and he would sit in a back pew. He would always shake Father’s hand on the way out afterward. “Good sermon, Reverend. I like to hear you talk.” Father liked him, and often said that if old Dave ever got religion he would be a great man for the Lord. He worked on the big fellow spiritually, but with no apparent result. Until one night.

After preaching a strongly evangelistic sermon, it was Father’s practice to invite any who wished their lives changed to come forward and kneel at the altar, and many did. His ministry resulted in conversions, and most remained faithful over the years. But this night after the revival sermon, no one had come forward, when suddenly there was a stir. Someone was walking down the aisle. The very floor seemed to shake with his tread. Mother looked around. “It’s Dave!” she gasped. The big fellow knelt at the altar. He said something to Father. Afterward Father told us what Dave had said: “I don’t want to be this way anymore, Reverend. I want Jesus. I want Him to save me.” Father prayed with him in a low voice and put his hand in blessing on the big fellow’s unruly black hair.

Then Dave arose and faced the congregation. Boy though I was, I was awed by the look on his face, a look of wonder and inexpressible joy. It is printed on my memory to this day. Of course, some said the conversion wouldn’t last. How could a renegade like that be changed in a minute of time? But it did last for over fifty years. He became literally a saint, a new man in Christ, and for half a century he blessed the lives of everyone who knew him.

Then one day, only a few years ago, I heard that Dave’s life was nearing its end. So I went to see him in his old home in the little Ohio village. I found him in bed, his hair as white as the pillow on which his great head rested. He was emaciated and frail. His hands on the coverlet were thin, the blue veins showing. I took his hand. It still had something of its former massive grip. Anyway, there was love in it. We talked of the old days, of the ways of the Lord Jesus, how He blesses all who love and follow Him.

“Your father was a great man, Norman, greatest man I ever knew. Who can be greater than a man who leads you to the Lord? And I love you, son. You were with me that wonderful night when my soul was cleansed, when the Lord came and saved me, one of His wandering sheep. I’ll always love you, Norman.”

“And I, you, Dave,” I replied, choking up. “Let’s have a prayer before I go,” I said. “And I want you to pray.” I knelt by the bed of the great old saint. He put his hand upon my head. His voice faded at times either through weakness or emotion, but every word is burned into my memory. His blessing is unforgettable. At the door I stood and waved at him. With a gentle smile he lifted his hand. I never saw him again.

As a little boy, awestruck by the mystery of change in a man’s very nature, I asked Father to explain it. “All I can say is that it is the power of God.” Then he added, “The Creator is also the re-creator.” The incident with Dave impressed my consciousness with the wonder and glory of the ministry. I am certain that this, added to other experiences, overcame my resistance to becoming a minister.

My father loved people, all sorts and conditions of people, good or bad. To him there was no distinction. They were all God’s children, whether deserving of respect or not.

When I was perhaps nine or ten years old, a call came to my father from, of all people, the madam of a house of ill fame, called in those days by the explicit name of whorehouse, in the red-light district of Cincinnati.

Mother took the call, which shocked her some, but she reported that in that house a young woman, only nineteen years old, was dying and wanted to see a pastor. Would my father come and talk with her and offer a prayer? Father was never one to turn down a person in need. “Norman,” he said, “you come with me and we will do what we can to help this poor soul through the gates of death.”

“Clifford,” exclaimed Mother, “you are not actually going to take your young son into such a place?”

“I am,” he replied firmly. “Norman might as well start learning about the evil of this world. And besides, Anna, don’t you think it will prevent misinterpretation if I go to that house with my own son rather than alone?”

Grudgingly Mother assented and we went. We found the young woman. The madam and other women stood around the room against the wall. Father sat by the bed and asked the woman her name and where her family lived. His doctor’s knowledge and instinct told him she was indeed near death’s door.

She told him she came from a little country town in Kentucky where her family still lived. She described them as “honorable and upright Christians. But I am a bad girl. I started down a wrong path and have ended up a harlot. I’m a very bad girl. Is there any hope for me? Will the Lord forgive me?”

Father took her frail hand in his big, strong hands and said, “Not a bad girl, just a good girl who has acted badly. Do you love Jesus?”

“Oh, yes, sir. But I’ve been unfaithful to Him.”

“But don’t you remember how He went out to find the lost sheep, Good Shepherd that He is?” She nodded and he continued, “Are you contrite and sorry for your sins?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Oh, yes.”

“And do you here and now accept Jesus Christ as your Savior and ask His mercy and forgiveness?”

“I do,” she said.

Then Father said, “The Lord has forgiven you all your sins and will take you this day to be with Him in paradise.” Then Father said a prayer, one of the most tender and beautiful in all my Christian experience. I opened my eyes as he prayed and saw tears running down the faces of the other women. But upon the girl’s face was a look of peace. Even though I was still so young, the experience awed me by its beauty. This unholy place of evil became holy because, for a fact, the Lord was there.

In that moment I saw the wonder and glory of the ministry, the majesty and power of the work of the pastor. That night the poor broken girl died, but the divine love accompanied her across the river.

Father had a great belief in people. For example, take the case of the minister whom I shall call Bill. Brother Bill, as he was affectionately called, was an inspiring preacher who loved and served his people, partaking with them in all their joys, successes, troubles, and sorrows. A caring and unselfish man, he was content with the little crossroads church he served. As superintendent of churches in that area, my father was Bill’s ecclesiastical superior.

Then, sudden tragedy descended. Bill’s always peaceful existence was shaken to its foundations, and apparently he was unprepared for it, not having developed a faith for personal adversity and a philosophy to cushion the shock. He tramped the roads unceasingly, no longer the man he had been. He would absent himself, but always provided a good substitute so that the work of his church went on after a fashion.

One day Brother Bill appeared at our home. He was obviously under great strain. “Dr. Peale,” he said, “I can’t stand it anymore. My life is ruined. I’ve come today to resign from my ministry and from the church. And I’m going away somewhere never to be heard of again. You see, I’m ashamed to look you in the face, you’ve been so good to me. But I have become a drunk, a plain no-account drunk. I can’t carry on as a preacher when my conscience accuses me as a liar and a cheat.”

Father hadn’t been a doctor and a pastor for nothing. He knew how to receive a confession and explore a personality to apply healing. He showed no sense of shock, certainly expressed no condemnation. He had the dispassionate objectivity of a scientist, together with love for this broken man.

“Bill,” he said, “I want you to do as I say.” He reached in his pocket and pressed some money into the minister’s hands. “I want you to go up to Lakeside, Ohio. They are having a revival meeting there and you just get converted all over again. If you can’t handle alcohol, the Lord can; and I’m going to pray for victory. There are better days ahead. Stay at Lakeside until I send for you.” Though he protested, Bill docilely followed orders.

Then Father called a meeting of the members of Bill’s little church. He told them about their pastor, and the additional fact that Bill’s father had been an alcoholic. He gave them a little talk on his idea of the nature of Christian fellowship. He stated that with the help of church members he wanted to work out a plan of salvation and understanding for their pastor and he asked them not to expel him from the fellowship until every effort had been made to restore him by the grace of God.

He was speaking to a group of men and women, farm people, the sort of folk the media often write off as stiff-necked and narrow-minded.

A long silence ensued until a rugged, middle-aged farmer spoke: “It might have been any one of us. It might have been me.”

One said, “Some of you know that I was anything but a saint. And I backslid after I was converted and joined the church. But you didn’t turn your backs on me. Let’s do the same for Brother Bill.”

Father was surprised by the turn of the meeting, but it was as if everyone wanted to stand by Bill’s side. True, some were tight-lipped, and Father expected some denunciation. But it did not happen, for the atmosphere was understanding and forgiving.

Father made the situation clear. Bill could not serve as pastor until and unless he gained victory over his problem, until the Holy Spirit had reorganized him. Meanwhile, all would pray for their leader, for his redemption and renewal.

When he told us about it later, Father said, “Perhaps some might criticize me as being lenient and careless of the integrity of the church. But I believe it is our duty to go out after the lost sheep, even if it is the pastor himself. For the first time, in this small country church I saw the glory of Christianity, the brotherhood of humility and love in action.”

Brother Bill, supported by the prayers and affection of the people, found the Lord in the power of the Holy Spirit. He became a new man in Christ, old things passed away, all things became new. The validity of his change was attested by the fact that he never again fell away and continued faithful until his death, a walking, living sermon on the power of Christ to change a person and the effect of Christian fellowship in action. I saw early in life that in Christ the humble believer becomes great.

After graduating from college, Peale accepted a job as a newspaper reporter with the Detroit Journal.

My most interesting experience on the Detroit Journal concerned a fire in a six-story building. A big crowd had gathered when I came up, showed my press pass, and stepped up to the fire line. I noticed the crowd looking up in anxious concern. There a young girl, maybe twelve or thirteen years of age, was trying to muster up nerve to crawl over an eight-foot space on a one-foot-wide plank that someone had shoved across. She would try to move out, but on looking down became terrified and drew back. People in the crowd were shouting encouragement to her, but she was frozen with fear.

Breathing a prayer and unconscious of the crowd, I called up, “Honey, do you believe in God?” Down on all fours, she nodded. “Do you believe that God is up there with you, that He loves you and will take care of you?” Again the nod. “Then look straight ahead, see Him, and He will lead you across to safety in no time. And I and everyone down here will be praying for you.”

The girl hesitated, then slowly lifted her eyes and looked straight ahead. She crawled out slowly onto the plank. Halfway across she seemed to hesitate, and I called out, “Don’t stop, honey, God is helping you. Keep on straight ahead.” She did so, to the cheers of the crowd, and soon friendly hands received her in safety. A burly policeman standing by said, “Good job, son. You sound like a preacher.”

“Oh, I’m no preacher,” I protested.

“The hell you’re not,” he replied.

I walked around in excitement for two or three hours; then, though late at night, I telephoned my parents telling them what had happened.

“The man said I sounded like a preacher. What did he mean?”

“He meant you have faith and communicated it to the girl. That’s preaching,” said Dad. “Wait a moment until I tell your mother.” There was no telephone extension in our home. “She says you were born to be a preacher,” he reported.

“But how can I know?” I asked, disturbed and perplexed.

“Only through prayer and by the willingness to do what God wants, not insisting on what you think you want.” And my wise father added, “Goodnight, son. We will pray also.”

Peale eventually enrolled at Boston University School of Theology to prepare for the ministry. His first church was a student pastorate in Berkeley, Rhode Island.

I have always been enthusiastic about the Gospel. I know that the Gospel works when one believes and follows the teachings. So Sunday after Sunday I told what faith in and commitment to Jesus Christ could do for those who would believe.

All my sermons were evangelistic. They were designed to persuade and to win people to acceptance of Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior. Following the sermon I invited people who wanted their lives changed to come forward and kneel at the altar. There they were to confess to God their sins and weaknesses and truly ask for salvation and life changing. Never shall I forget the first Sunday night that I “gave the invitation.” To my surprise five persons came and knelt at the altar, three men and two women. I knew them to be quite non-Christian in their attitudes and life-styles. Now that they humbly knelt before the altar, accepting my assurances that their lives could change, I hardly knew what to do with them. So I appealed straight to the Lord in whose name I had promised them newness of life.

“Dear Lord,” I prayed aloud, “You know what I promised these people. You know it is the truth. Please change them now by Your power.” One man, Henry G. I will call him, was generally referred to as “the meanest devil in town.” He himself confessed as he knelt there that “a devil is in me filling me with hate and anger. I’ve been this way from my youth. I hated my father.”

“Henry,” I said, “do you want to be changed? Do you mean it one hundred percent?”

“I do, I do,” he said and his voice broke.

“And do you believe that Jesus Christ can change you here and now?”

Again he replied with deep feeling, “I do.”

I told him to say to the Lord, “What I can’t do for myself, You, Lord, please do for me now.”

Then in my enthusiasm I declared, “Henry, you have been changed. You are a new creature. Old things have passed away. You are a new man. All that old hate stuff is gone.”

When I told some of the students at the school of theology about this, they shook their heads. “What if it had not worked?” But I remonstrated that Henry had met all the qualifications for life changing: confession, witnessing to his faith, appeal to the grace of God, commitment. Furthermore, I believed that if the faith is in depth, the change is so powerful as to be immediate. Whatever the reasoning, the operation of spiritual power swept this man’s personality totally clean. He became calm, quiet, controlled, a loving and lovable person from that minute in time, and continued so until his death over thirty years later.

But learning to be a preacher is no easy process. After all these years, I still think that public speaking is one of the most difficult of all human occupations to master. Just when one begins to think he is getting fairly good at it, will come an embarrassing and humiliating experience. In public speaking, for sure, “pride goeth before a fall.” And the falls are many, at least so it has been in my experience.

How well I recall the Sunday at Berkeley when I just couldn’t get going at all in my sermon. Everything seemed to go wrong. I left out the best ideas I had intended to present and came out with pretty poor material. Coming down from the pulpit, I told a retired and distinguished minister, who was in church that day, about my discomfiture.

“Tell you what, Norman,” he said. “When you are in the pulpit just do the best you can. And when it’s over, come down and forget it. The congregation will, and you might as well make it unanimous.”

My ordination as a minister was performed in what was then called the Methodist Episcopal Church, later renamed the United Methodist Church. The ordination ceremony took place in a Sunday morning service at the annual session of the West Ohio Conference in September 1922.

I came to this significant point in life through a hard decision process, but when I was actually made an ordained minister, an unforgettable sense of peace and rightness came upon me.

Though there have been some difficult times across the years, I have never regretted the decision to become a preacher and pastor. The Lord has blessed my ministry beyond all expectations and, of course, always beyond all deserving.

Norman Vincent Peale is senior minister of Marble Collegiate Church in New York City.

Copyright © 1986 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

FROM THE OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER

Harold L. Myra

We all at times strain to see the light at the end of a tunnel. We feel that surely, past these particular circumstances, we’ll exit into new realities. The New Yorker cartoon on this page therefore struck a chord even as it caused me to laugh. New Jersey? The long-anticipated, fought-for, longed-for light is, of all things, New Jersey?

It wasn’t the cartoonist’s Manhattan viewpoint that struck me. My mind supplied its own assorted impressions-from Garden State license plates and lovely hills to Camden, where I was born, spent ten good years, and later in adulthood saw its urban decay.

New Jersey or New Glarus, the cartoon has universal resonance. Our hard work and planning may result in “progress,” but the new place we find ourselves-perhaps an expanded or more “significant” ministry-has its own problems. Dorothy Sayers speaks of there not truly being “solutions” to problems, only new realities.

The figure in the cartoon is walking away from “New Jersey.” Where will he go? We have choices, but they’re usually limited. We can step forward into the New Jerseys and live out what is there, or go back to Manhattan and do much the same thing.

I love Eugene Peterson’s book title: A Long Obedience in the Same Direction. Our lives may be tunnel after tunnel where the only light ends up a New Jersey-a bland, infuriating, challenging, exciting mixture of potential. A New Jersey that becomes, in certain ways, what we make of it.

People in our congregations constantly experience the light at the end of their tunnels as New Jerseys. With Eugene Peterson, we need to help them-and ourselves-perceive the challenge inherent in a great dream becoming a drab reality.

John Sherrill, in the newsletter Intercessors, describes the struggle in praying “for those you don’t like.” He tells how he was asked to pray for a church member named Art but found he couldn’t. He didn’t like Art, and this blocked his prayers.

Then he and his wife, Tib, had a conversation with a nurse named Sylvia. Here’s how Sherrill tells the story:

I asked Sylvia what she found the hardest part of her profession. “That’s easy,” she said. “Sometimes you have to nurse people you don’t like.”

I told Sylvia about my similar problem in intercession. “It’s difficult.”

“I know,” said Sylvia. “And the trouble is you feel guilty because we’re supposed to pray for spiteful people.”

Sylvia told Tib and me two examples of people who had used her spitefully. She once had a lawyer patient who had been shot in the head and who afterwards suffered a personality change. He would shout obscenities at the nurses. “I felt dirty when I walked out of that man’s room,” Sylvia said.

“And there was a woman I once nursed on private duty. She had melanoma. In a few weeks she would probably be dead and yet she wanted to be sure she got her money’s worth out of us nurses. She couldn’t bear to see me sit down.”

Two principles helped her, she said.

First, as a student, she had been trained to be impartial. “We were taught to treat all patients with the same care.” Impartiality. The way God treats us. He causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous (Matt. 5:45).

“The second principle is harder but even more helpful,” she said. “I must remember I am here to nurse, not to judge.” Again this principle is based on the way God treats us. The Father judges no one, but has entrusted all judgment to the Son (John 5:22).

“There’s a bonus that comes from using these two yardsticks,” Sylvia said. “Once you stop judging, you are free to understand . . .”

After our talk with Sylvia, I once again thought about Art, and I felt ashamed. We can be realistic and clear-eyed about personality weaknesses, yes. But to judge to the point where we cannot intercede? Even the Father did not do that. He left judgment to the Son and the reason seems clear: Jesus Himself walked through the rejections and temptations of life and could identify with our weaknesses.

He had been there. He knew. Within moments I found that I was able to begin a fresh kind of intercession for Art, trusting at the same time that when others interceded for me they could find it in themselves not to judge me first.

Harold L. Myra is president of Christianity Today, Inc.

Copyright © 1986 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

Pastors

SOLVING THE MEDICAL ETHICS MAZE

Richard C. Eyer

When helping parishioners with tough ethical decisions, the easy way is not always the best.

I could hardly blame the pastor. He meant well. The nurse called my office and said, “Mrs. Lavo is quite upset since her minister left. Could you see her? Mrs. Lavo and I had already spent several hours talking about her upcoming therapeutic abortion. The time was not spent making a decision, however. The options seemed clear: If she had the surgery, she would live; if she did not, she would die. Our hours together had focused on the sadness and understandable yet debilitating guilt that plagued her.

After much time spent reassuring her of God’s grace and the sad necessity of this surgery, I left, planning to see her the next day.

That night her minister bustled in, and after hurriedly checking out the legitimacy of the abortion, left her with the words “Well, it’s a good thing this is a therapeutic abortion. Otherwise it would be murder.” He left, she panicked, and I was called.

Mrs. Lavo’s pastor and I share at least one thing in common: We both are sometimes more attentive to the issues than to the person experiencing them.

I remember the time a frightened young patient said to me, “What do you think of this chemotherapy stuff?” After launching into a generic response, it occurred to me that possibly he was really asking, “Is it wrong to refuse treatment and die?” I was duped by the subject and didn’t listen to the patient.

There are ways to help, or hinder, parishioners when faced with what has come to be called “an ethical dilemma.” Some of these dilemmas are ethical, and some are not. Some situations begin as an apparent medical ethics dilemma, but when the issues are clarified, end up as something else. The pastor’s task is to help parishioners sort out what is and is not a moral issue, and help them through the maze of decision making in either case. This can be a frightening task, but there are guidelines.

The search for guidelines begins with the question, “What is Christian medical ethics?” The simplest answer is “making medical decisions in the context of faithfulness to Jesus Christ.” The word faithfulness pertains to what is true and right, as well as compassionate. The balance between rightness and compassion is where the dilemma lies for most Christians. When human sinfulness is acknowledged and the grace of God is discovered, we have taken the first step toward making a faithful decision.

For pastors, medical ethics most often deals with parishioners who are terminally ill, comatose, and/or elderly. Other dilemmas relate to abortion, organ transplants, genetic counseling, and artificial insemination. But pastors find their most common dilemmas facing a patient in the intensive care unit for whom decisions have to be made by family or friends. Here pastoral guidance is frequently needed and requested. What can we do? What can we say? What is our role?

Asking the Right Questions

One critical issue is to help the family ask the right questions. The right questions can greatly influence the eventual decision, or whether a decision is even necessary.

Ethel was brain dead. Her husband had been sitting in the lounge of the intensive care unit for a week and didn’t want to admit the end was coming. The physician was still hedging and talking about EEGs and “minimal responses,” which left the ambiguous message that she might still be alive. The husband thought he had to make a decision to withdraw life support equipment. To him that would mean ending her life.

When the pastor arrived, he acted as a supportive bridge between the physician and Ethel’s husband. It was finally the pastor who asked the physician, “Is she dead?” The doctor nodded. The husband wept. And the machines were turned off. No decision needed to be made.

The pastor had said what the other two dared not voice, because he bears the additional message that death is not the ultimate reality. The pastor had new hope to offer in the resurrection of our Lord.

Where it is not possible for us to be with the patient or family members when the physician poses a dilemma, our task is to encourage them to ask the right questions: “Will this treatment change the ultimate outcome of the disease?” Or, “Is this procedure expected to help cure or comfort?”

I’ve also found it helpful to ask the parishioner, “What is the hardest thing for you to bear in all of this?”

Weighing the Burden

On the mind of nearly everyone faced with the possibility of needing life support is the concern: I don’t want to be a burden. The one thing we all dread is having to live with suffering and with the burden such suffering produces. It is unfortunate that this aspect of medical ethical decisions gets such biased news coverage, reporting that another citizen must bear the injustice of a medical burden. Our hearts go out to those saddled with an invalid husband or a comatose child. The implied conclusion is that no one should have to suffer such things.

I am always amazed at how easily some people, when they hear someone has to suffer greatly, tend to sympathize with those who would solve the problem by “putting people out of their misery.” The church’s message used to be “bear one another’s burdens.” It is rapidly becoming “no one should have to bear a burden.” If the pastor conveys this message, his parishioners will not be far behind. No one wants to live with discomfort, inconvenience, or suffering in an age of instant gratification.

Making ethical decisions based on feelings alone is neither helpful nor complete, even when those feelings are labeled compassion or kindness. Emotive ethics, that tendency in all of us to make decisions based on feelings rather than right standards, is an extension of the 1960s slogan “If it feels good, do it!”

Nurses in our hospital sometimes tell me of some well-meaning pastor who gives a family or patient counsel I consider inappropriate. When they sense my disapproval, they usually try to defend the person with “Well, it made the family feel better,” as if this is the primary goal of pastoral care. The responsible and ultimately helpful pastor is one who can help the family or patient make a decision that not only “feels” good at the time, but one that lasts-a decision they can live with because it makes sense in the light of one’s calling in Jesus Christ, who is Lord of all life.

Mrs. Mengel was refusing surgery. Her doctor asked me to speak with her about the importance of bowel surgery to correct a blockage. Although she was seventy-five years old and lived in a nursing home, apart from this malady she was in fairly good health. With the minor surgery she could live many more years. But Mrs. Mengel refused on the grounds that she did not like the nursing home and wanted to die. Her granddaughter sat by her bedside daily and sobbed in affirmation of her grandmother’s wishes, “If that’s what she wants, that’s what I want.”

It became clear that what Grandmother wanted was someone to take her out of the nursing home. Refusing surgery was her form of blackmail. The naive, trendy granddaughter reflected emotive ethics and supported her grandmother’s decision on the basis that her life was a burden. The real issue was the relationship between grandmother and family. I told the family the problem of “burden” is best resolved, not by ending her life, but by bearing it with her. The family did not like my comment, but Grandmother did.

Examining motives, anxieties, and fears is an obvious role for the pastor dealing with medical ethics dilemmas. He possesses the broader picture of human nature and the needs only God can fill. The psychologist might champion the cause of patient autonomy in decision making, but the deeper need is for fellowship with God and those he has redeemed. A pastor is called to focus on those relationships, since all dilemmas are resolved only by trusting God’s grace, which reconciles us to himself and each other.

Letting God Work

A third key to pastoral intervention in medical ethics dilemmas is to keep parishioners from panic. When people are worn down by much waiting, they naturally tend to take matters into their own hands. That sometimes means taking things out of God’s hands.

Much waiting is frequently the lot of terminally ill, comatose, or elderly patients. The burdens may increase, but that doesn’t change the appropriateness of waiting. Patience is linked to the conviction that Jesus Christ is Lord of life. “Waiting on the Lord” has never been easy, but in so doing, we discover to whom we belong and where we are heading in life.

Some time ago a nurse stood at the bedside of a stroke victim. Three weeks had passed since the stroke, and as this nurse stood with the family, he heard their anguish. When the family left, he turned off the respirator, and a helpless, living patient died. Appropriate legal action was taken against the nurse, but most disturbing was the popular sentiment that “someone needed to do what he did.” What he had done was to take matters into his own hands rather than commend them to God.

As pastors, our job is to help people deal with feelings of helplessness by acknowledging them and identifying them as opportunities to trust in God’s actions for their good. Faithfulness means putting things into God’s hands, rather than grasping control ourselves. Jesus “emptied himself, taking the form of a servant.” We, too, in our helplessness learn to be servants rather than gods. Pastors who model helplessness yet faithfulness also model for their people how to bear burdens.

Facing Guilt

Then there is the matter of helping people face feelings of guilt when they have made the wrong, or even the right, decision. Few decisions are clearly one or the other. Many choices are made between two evils.

For that reason, one of our most important roles as pastors is to identify sin and grace as components of medical ethics. No one is perfect. Having determined what we believe to be the most faithful decision, we still must act under the grace of God.

When a parishioner is defensive about a particular decision, I look for guilt and unresolved issues in that person. When a parishioner seems to make a decision about himself or a loved one too easily, I try to draw out feelings by posing the right questions. My concern is to help the parishioner deal with the guilt that will be felt later on.

Mrs. Cleary’s husband had been transferred from a medical unit to the intensive care unit. A respirator had been connected to help him breathe, but it prevented him from talking to his wife. He was too weak to write. As it became evident that he might not survive, Mrs. Cleary asked that the respirator be removed so they might speak to one another before death came. The dilemma was that by removing the respirator, he might die immediately. Mrs. Cleary wanted to take the risk, hoping for some meaningful words with him before he died.

I felt it was important that she realize the consequences of her request. I knew his last words were vital to her, but I also realized she would be devastated by guilt if he died as a result of her decision, especially if he were still unable to communicate despite her effort. I advised her not to remove the respirator.

As it happened, her husband died before she could make the final decision. She never did hear him speak. But neither did she bear the guilt of his death. She did, however, appreciate everyone’s efforts to care for her and do what was right for her husband.

Praying Always

Mr. Lewis had been dependent on a respirator for weeks. He began to despair and motioned for it to be turned off so he could die. Since there was little else wrong with Mr. Lewis and he could live this way for some time, the physicians and nurses refused his request. He begged his wife to do it for him. She told him not to talk about it, and he withdrew into depression.

When I met Mr. Lewis, he was lying with his eyes closed, waiting to die of sheer lack of will to live. As I spoke to him, he ignored my words and pretended to sleep. I chose to speak as I would to a patient in a coma. He listened. I concluded with a prayer that God would allow him to die. Mr. Lewis opened his eyes and nodded in affirmation of my prayer. In the weeks that followed, I continued to pray for his death, and Mr. Lewis sank into a coma and died about a month after I met him.

Whether or not we should pray for death is not easily determined, but on occasion, I’m convinced it’s appropriate. Mr. Lewis and I had commended his care into the hands of God. Medicine could do nothing more for him. In praying for his death, the lines of communication and faith were kept open for Mr. Lewis. The grace of God will have to cover us both, since we cannot be certain either of us did the right thing.

Praying with patients and family members is the only way tension can be eased and patience provided as we hand over our worries to the Lord. Our helplessness is answered, and control is given to the one who rightly holds it. Pastors who listen carefully, take the time to observe the whole situation, and consult with other pastors in delicate situations, often find an effective ministry in praying boldly with people.

In 1 Corinthians 6:19-20, Paul says, “Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body.” Even thin, worn, and apparently lifeless bodies can give God glory because they are commended to Jesus Christ, who made them, sustained them, and now receives them to himself in death.

Pastors who keep the faith, who move beyond expediency, will use compassion to interpret faithfulness, not to twist compassion according to the wishes of society. In a fallen world, the easy way is not always the best way. The faithful way is always a burden worthy of being borne.

Richard C. Eyer is chaplain and director of pastoral care, Columbia Hospital, Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

Copyright © 1986 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.

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